The Faith of a Child

Childhood memories are an amazing thing. At the time when we are children, we don’t realized how significant some of our childhood experiences can be in our adult lives. Now that I am a mother, I find myself reliving parts of my own childhood through the lives of my children…like collecting lightning bugs on warm summer evenings, opening up a “fresh box” of crayons, or singing on a swing set with my legs outstretched and arms and head titled back…looking at the world upside-down. We recently bought our sons a puppy we affectionately named “Zoe.” With Zoe came a childhood memory that remains one of the dearest to me, and is surprisingly one that the Lord has frequently brought to my mind as an adult.
I don’t remember exactly when I decided I wanted a dog. It seemed I was born an animal lover. Unfortunately, I was the only one in my family of five who had this passion. My brother and sister would have agreed to a dog. They were not the problem. My father may have even resolved the idea. He was not the problem. The problem was my mom. She wanted a puppy in her immaculately clean house just about as much as you’d want to have the chicken pox the rest of your life!
Yet, I remained determined to hold on to my dream. I remember kneeling beside her in church just praying for a puppy. I remember the childlike faith I had, hoping and believing that I would indeed get that dog…maybe even tomorrow! My mother quietly asked what I was so earnestly praying for. When I told her “a dog” she rolled her eyes and thought, “You can pray all you want Mary, because the one thing you are not going to get is a dog!”
Some time had passed, and I still continued to faithfully pray for a puppy. Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, my father who was a mailman had a lady on his route that had a pedigree dog about to give birth. She wanted to give him a puppy as a gift. Much to my mother’s own bewilderment (even today), she agreed to accept the dog. At the age of 8, a week before Christmas I was presented with a darling little black puppy wrapped in a white little blanket. Upon taking “Brandy” into my arms, I looked into my mother’s eyes and exclaimed, “See Mom, God does answer your prayers!”
This memory is one that I have often pondered over, especially after I became diagnosed with cancer. I believe it illustrates spiritual truths that we as Christians sometimes depreciate. Jesus said in Matthew 18:3 that unless we become as little children we will “by no means enter the kingdom of heaven” He goes on to say in verse 4 that whoever humbles himself as a little child is “the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” In Mark’s gospel 10:14-16 Jesus lets the little children come to Him. He said we must “receive the kingdom of God as a little child.” He then took the children in His arms, laid His hands upon them and blessed them.
Although I am not a child anymore, there are times I wish I had that childlike perspective more often…the trusting, dependent part of an innocent child who believed and hoped all things…before doubt and cynicism crept in brought about my life’s disappointments and difficulties…what I thought God “should have done” or “could have done” but didn’t.
His Word requires that when we don’t understand…when life doesn’t make sense, when we are diagnosed with a life threatening illness like cancer, that we trust Him all the more. We need to embrace child-like faith that He is our father who sees the big picture from start to finish.
“Become as a little child.” It sounds so “unspiritual” doesn’t it? There are no “Seven Steps to Super Salvation,” or “God’s Powerful Plan for Perpetual Prosperity.” Jesus didn’t leave us with a formula or method for marvelous, miraculous miracles. Instead we should become like little children who trust in a loving Father who is working out His will in our lives. The next time one of life’s storms comes my way, (and they will) I want to be that little girl again who is expecting God’s goodness to surprise her…not because of anything I know or I’ve done…but because I am keeping a tiny hand grasped to one much larger than my own.