Heart of a child

It's a humbling moment when a child seems to understand the concept of goodness and generosity better than their parents. I experienced this last night.

In my previous post I talked about our experience at the Yankees-Oriole's game last night. But perhaps the fondest memory I'll take is what happened before and after the game.

On our way up to Baltimore we stopped at a gas station so Levi could use the potty. When we came back out to the car I asked him to keep his hand on the car while I fumbled around for my keys. Before I could reach him he started walking around to the other side, but with one hand on the car of course.

I finally got my keys out and went around to the other side with him. I picked him up and put my face right up to his. I said, "Son, you can't walk away from Daddy like that, okay?" And in typical 2-year old fashion, he asked, "Why?" I said, "Because I don't want anyone to try and grab you. That would make Daddy very sad."

"But no one is trying to grab me," he said. At this point I knew I was NOT going to win this discussion.

I said, "That's right, no one did. But sometimes people might try to."

"Bad people?" he asked.

"Yep."

"But there's no bad people."

"Yeah, bud, there's bad people."

"No there's not."

"Yes, son, there ARE bad people."

"No there's not."

"Yes there are."

"No there's not."

"Okay."

"Everybody's just nice," he said.

What a wonderful perception to have of the world - that everybody's "just nice." While I rejoice in the fact that that's how my child sees the world, it also makes me sad to know that some day that perception will be thwarted; someday he'll see what evil is, and someday he'll understand that there actually ARE bad people in the world. Hopefully he'll find out later, rather than sooner.

The other humbling moment for me came after the ballgame. Leaving Camden Yards you're bombarded with vendors trying to get rid of the last of their inventory - $1 water bottles, $1 cotton candy, $5 t-shirts, etc. We fought and fought our way through them only to come to the second layer of beggars: actual beggars. Once you're past all the vendors the homeless of Baltimore line up, hoping to maybe get your loose change from the hot dogs, or, if they're lucky, a whole buck or two.

Levi was riding on my shoulders and we were talking about the night when we passed by a homeless man. He was old with a long, curly gray beard and long, thinning gray hair. His shoes had holes the size of half-dollars, and his clothes were almost see-through, surely from the years of being his only clothing option. His hands were grimy and he had clearly not seen a bathtub or shower in the last decade. He was certainly what Jesus refered to as "the least of these."

"What's that man doing?" Levi asked after we passed him by.

"He's asking people for money," I said.

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't have any."

"Why doesn't he have any?"

"Well because...it's a long story. But he asks people for money so he can eat."

"Did we give him any money?"

Silence.

"Daddy, did we give him any money?"

Silence.

"Do you think we should, pal?" I ask.

"Yeah, he's probably hungry."

I stopped walking and opened my wallet. All I had was a $20 bill.

Silence.

Silence.

More silence.

I took the $20 out and walked back to where the man was sitting. For a brief moment I thought about maybe making some change, but all he had was one quarter, a dime and three pennies in his cup. I cupped the $20 bill in my hand and slid it in to the cup so he wouldn't see what it was, then I turned and walked away.

After a few steps I heard, "Thank you."

Without turning around I stuck my left hand out and waved a sideways, "You're welcome."

"Thank you!" I heard again, only a little louder.

This time I turned my head slightly to the left and, without really being able to see him, I nodded a "You're welcome."

"Sir! Thank you!" The voice was now closer.

Startled I turned around and saw the man now walking toward us, having left his cup and his bag of junk behind. I was a little nervous, not really knowing what he would do. He was walking hunched over and he drug his right foot behind him. Despite the obvious labor it required just to walk, he was smiling a huge, near toothless smile. When he got close to us he said something that, I'm quite certain, will haunt me each time I see a homeless man or woman asking for help. He said,

"I DON'T REMEMBER WHEN ANYONE THOUGHT I WAS WORTH THAT MUCH."

Part of the reason this affected me so much is because for the last several days I've been preparing to preach a sermon on the story of Jesus healing the man with leprosy. You'll recall from this story that Jesus doesn't just speak healing words, instead He reaches out and touches the man. The reason I was so nervous when the man was coming toward us is because I thought he might try to hug me. Is he not worth a hug? Is it not worth having a stench on my clothes to bring a brief moment of joy to one of God's children?

Not only that, but those words will forever indict me when I pass by the man or ignore the woman asking for help. Is another human being worth $20? Our actions usually show that human beings in need are worth the change in the slot in our car, or our last $1.

I heard someone say once that things are worth whatever someone will pay for them. So if a house, no matter how big or small, can be sold for $1,000,000.00, it's a million-dollar home.

To God, we're worth only as much as He was willing to pay for us. Only He spared no expense. He gave Jesus for us because that's what we're worth to Him, and we ought to treat one another that way too.