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