Share Your Son

Would You share your son ?

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 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.

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, "To enter
the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children."