Good Friday, through a child's eyes
Kids of various ages and stages have a way of opening our older, dimmed eyes to the world around us.
I remember fondly the second year of our first born's life. His constant discoveries of the world around him drove me to relook at everything from worms to rainbows, from paint to boogers, from toes to eyelashes.
At the same time, I taught kindergarten. Every day the five and six year olds grew mentally and emotionally in ways only kindergarteners can. They discovered sounds and friends and adding and confidence and themselves.
Yesterday and today we remembered Good Friday, and again I had the privilege of seeing through a child's eyes.
Today as I helped with three and four year olds the story teller came in and shared the dusty story of the cross. The regular attenders' hands shot up with the right answers, but the visitors are the ones to learn from.
Have you ever done something wrong?
No, not me.
Have you ever disobeyed your mom?
No, not me. (a little more hesitantly)
Have you ever lied?
No, not me. There was one time that I had to, but it was not today.
How short our memories are concerning our own glaring faults. Our own need of the Savior is glossed over by rationalizations and present circumstance.
The story goes on . . .
Jesus was taken to a cross and he had to die for those sins. He had done no wrong, but he loves you so much!
{Gasp} He died!?!?!
But that's not the end.
He's almost giddy as he hears the end of the story.
I don't remember the first time I heard it, but serving there in that 3-4 year old room I heard it again for the first time.
Another service, this time in the "adult" worship service. More introspective. Who do I say that He is? Me and Jesus. That's all that matters in that moment.
What do I think? Does my life bear that out? Time to contemplate, to stir up, to remember.
On the way out, our eleven year old who had just experienced his first adult version of Good Friday comments, "That was really good."
Later in the quietness I ask more - what exactly?
He says simply, it was so real.
He's long believed, long understood the story, but seeing it there, like that, so focused and dramatized, and real.
Yes, real.
It really happened. Long ago, but just as relevant today. I build my hope on nothing less, than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
I remember fondly the second year of our first born's life. His constant discoveries of the world around him drove me to relook at everything from worms to rainbows, from paint to boogers, from toes to eyelashes.
At the same time, I taught kindergarten. Every day the five and six year olds grew mentally and emotionally in ways only kindergarteners can. They discovered sounds and friends and adding and confidence and themselves.
Yesterday and today we remembered Good Friday, and again I had the privilege of seeing through a child's eyes.
Today as I helped with three and four year olds the story teller came in and shared the dusty story of the cross. The regular attenders' hands shot up with the right answers, but the visitors are the ones to learn from.
Have you ever done something wrong?
No, not me.
Have you ever disobeyed your mom?
No, not me. (a little more hesitantly)
Have you ever lied?
No, not me. There was one time that I had to, but it was not today.
How short our memories are concerning our own glaring faults. Our own need of the Savior is glossed over by rationalizations and present circumstance.
The story goes on . . .
Jesus was taken to a cross and he had to die for those sins. He had done no wrong, but he loves you so much!
{Gasp} He died!?!?!
But that's not the end.
He's almost giddy as he hears the end of the story.
I don't remember the first time I heard it, but serving there in that 3-4 year old room I heard it again for the first time.
Another service, this time in the "adult" worship service. More introspective. Who do I say that He is? Me and Jesus. That's all that matters in that moment.
What do I think? Does my life bear that out? Time to contemplate, to stir up, to remember.
On the way out, our eleven year old who had just experienced his first adult version of Good Friday comments, "That was really good."
Later in the quietness I ask more - what exactly?
He says simply, it was so real.
He's long believed, long understood the story, but seeing it there, like that, so focused and dramatized, and real.
Yes, real.
It really happened. Long ago, but just as relevant today. I build my hope on nothing less, than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
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