Follow by Email

Saturday, September 7, 2013

The Baby and the Tramp


No matter what your belief...the moral is something to live by.

  
                            A Baby's Hug 
                                                 

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik
   in a high chair and noticed  everyone was quietly  sitting and talking. 
Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, 'Hi.' He pounded his fat   baby hands on the high chair tray.   His eyes were  crinkled in laughter   and his mouth  was bared in a toothless grin, as he   wriggled and giggled with merriment.   I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. 

It was a man  whose 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 thinking, 'What do we do?'  Erik continued to laugh and answer, 'Hi.' 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   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 sidestep 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.  
                                
Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their   love and kinship. 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, 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 and  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, lovingly and  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. The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, 'To enter the  Kingdom of God , we must become as little children.'


If this has blessed you, please bless others by  sending it on. Sometimes, it takes a child to remind us of what is   really important. We must always remember who we are, where we came from, how we got  where we are, and, most importantly, how we feel about others. The  clothes on your back or the car that you drive or the house that you  live in does not define you at all; it is how you treat your fellow man that identifies who you are.

 
'It is better to be liked for the true you, than to 
    be loved for who  people think you are......
From an email shared by Anaggh Desai