Nancy, the mother, relates:
We were the only family with children
in the restaurant.
I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed
everyone
was quietly eating and talking.
Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee
and said, "Hi there."
He pounded his fat baby hands on
the high-chair tray.
His eyes were wide with excitement
and his mouth was bared in a toothless
grin.
He wriggled and giggled with merriment.
I looked around and saw the source
of his merriment.
It was a man with a tattered rag
of a coat;
dirty, greasy and worn.
His pants were baggy with a zipper
at half-mast
and his toes poked out of would-be
shoes.
His shirt was dirty and his hair
was uncombed and unwashed.
His whiskers were too short to be
called a beard
and his nose was so varicose it
looked like a road map.
We were too far from him to smell,
but I was sure he smelled.
His hands waved and flapped on loose
wrists.
"Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy.
I see ya, buster."
The man said to Erik.
My husband and I exchanged looks,
"What do we do?"
Erik continued to laugh and answer,
"Hi, hi there."
Everyone in the restaurant noticed
and looked at us
and then at the man.
The old geezer was creating a nuisance
with my beautiful baby.
Our meal came and the man began
shouting from across the room,
"Do ya know patty cake? Do you know
peek-a-boo?
Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo."
Nobody thought the old man was cute.
He was obviously drunk.
My husband and I were embarrassed.
We ate in silence;
all except for Erik,
who was running through his repertoire
for the admiring skid-row bum,
who in turn,
reciprocated with his cute comments.
We finally got through the meal
and headed for the door.
My husband went to pay the check
and told me to meet him in the parking
lot.
The old man sat poised between me
and the door.
"Lord, just let me out of here before
he speaks to me or Erik," I prayed.
As I drew closer to the man, I turned
my back trying to side-step him
and avoid any air he might be breathing.
As I did, Erik leaned over my arm,
reaching with both arms in a baby's
"pick-me-up" position.
Before I could stop him,
Erik had propelled himself from
my arms to the man's.
Suddenly a very old smelly man and
a very young baby
consummated their love relationship.
Erik in an act of total trust, love
and submission
laid his tiny head upon the man's
ragged shoulder.
The man's eyes closed, and I saw
tears hover beneath his lashes.
His aged hands full of grime, pain
and hard labor -
gently, so gently,
cradled my baby's bottom and stroked
his back.
No two beings have ever loved so
deeply for so short a time.
I stood awestruck.
The old man rocked and cradled Erik
in his arms for a moment,
and then his eyes opened and set
squarely on mine.
He said in a firm commanding voice,
"You take care of this baby."
Somehow I managed, "I will,'
from a throat that contained a stone.
He pried Erik from his chest-unwillingly,
longingly,
as though he were in pain.
I received my baby, and the man
said,
"God bless you, ma'am, you've given
me my Christmas gift."
I said nothing more than a muttered
thanks.
With Erik in my arms, I ran for
the car.
My husband was wondering
why I was crying and holding Erik
so tightly,
and why I was saying,
"My God, My God, forgive me."
I had just witnessed Christ's love
shown through the innocence
of a tiny child who saw no sin,
who made no judgment;
a child who saw a soul, and a mother
who saw a suit of clothes.
I was a Christian who was blind,
holding a child who was not.
I felt it was God asking:
"Are you willing to share your son
for a moment?"
-- when He shared His for all eternity.
Author
Unknown To Me
 
 
 
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