The sound of a little child’s smooth feet clapping on the floor, are by and by replaced by the sound of sharp heels or boots, and a strong and confident gait. The child is growing..and the witnesses muse as they see the wonder of life. It’s always a mixture of feelings – joy that they are growing, and fear of the inevitable challenges that will come their way as they face a tomorrow that isn’t too far off. I see it in my parents’ eyes sometimes, when they look at me and I can tell that they’re in denial of the fact that their once very tiny little girl – who disliked sweaters and had so much trouble eating beyond two spoons of food – is now a grown woman trying to make something good of her own life. I mean, it was just the other day. From Pampers to puberty; and now the reality of adulthood is right before us all.
Today I would like to address the mini me, as you do the same. Because we just might have quite some work to do with the child within each of us. Life is like a race, even Paul of the Bible likened it to one. We are all running feverishly towards something. Each waking day, we rise up to something. That race does not begin in adulthood. It begins at the count of three, with the screams of a mother, we all come out running!
A little baby is like a blank sheet of paper. Their warm tiny grip so gentle and crystal; their chuckles so pure and tear-jerking – a laughter that hasn’t been touched, taught or defiled and their smooth skin, hmmm, too much freshness and purity going on everywhere. With every passing day, something is written on this sheet of paper. It could be written in pencil scribbles which can be rubbed off later or gentle pen marks to be etched in their hearts. It could be in dark black marker, painful, dreadful and inevitably scarring. What is written will leave an almost indelible imprint behind.
Close your eyes for a moment please. Let your mind wander off into the life of the mini you. What do you see?
If this could possibly be live and interactive, I know all kinds of answers would rent the room. I know that some of us have seen a hurt or two, mildly or heavily marked, large or small, long-lived or instantaneous. There are deep dark secrets and traumas, either in your life or that of your neighbor, that have left us emotionally disfigured. Incidents leap out of our past and can really hold us hostage, forever chained to emotional pain. Truth is, no matter how much you decorate a wound, with cuff-links and suits and make-up and weaves, they remain wounds and they translate into our daily living. The little child is crying…they’ve been crying so long, and not even their own self could here them. We need to wipe these tears that still flow as freshly as they began to years ago.
Children are the heirs of success or pain. They are the ones who are actually wrestling through their parents’ painful divorce or long nights of mum’s wailing from the battering of their drunken Dad. They are the ones left struggling long after the abuse has ceased. Why? Because injuries incurred early are far more lethal than those sustained later. So many of us deal so well with our adult selves but the little child within us is caged, almost collapsing from crying too long.
I have, a couple of times, listened to stories, prayed for or counseled people who were battling something too personal to be discussed, yet because it was translating to their everyday lives, could not be hidden. To be honest, I have mine too, that God helped me through when I was 17. I still don’t have the bravery too discuss it. But it was a minor incident which actually left quite a wound that I thought had faded with the passing days, only to resurface later and call for attention. Just a minor one, no biggie. Another perfect example would be the emotional bullying that my closest childhood friend put me through for a while, which I came to experience yet again in high school and I almost believed that friendships were never for me in the first place. There is a reason you don’t love yourself, and it could be because you were severely bullied in school. There is a reason you don’t respect men and well..ladies, I know you understand this one. There is a reason you buried that gift, probably because they bood you at the assembly ground. You probably weep through movies or series, not because of the plot but because your story resonates far too much with the victim’s.
In another perspective, the voids in some of our hearts cause us to work too hard to prove others (in real sense, ourselves) otherwise. I remember being stuck in people-pleasing for a while because I needed them to see that I was really good a friend after all. It did hurt me more, to be honest, because they didn’t even take any notice. They were most probably too busy tryna mend their own lives. Many people clamor for success to prove a point to a person who may not even be there anymore, or moved past the issue long before.
Money, sex, drugs, alcohol, blocking people…none of these unsavory solutions heal like Christ does, and that’s why right now, I recommend Him to you. Look into the eyes of a hurt woman. Beneath the classy make-up, lie scars that no concealer can actually conceal. But my God is a mender of broken little girls and boys. He stitches together with skilled hands, the dreams and ambitions that have been ripped apart.
No wonder Jesus said “let the little children come to me”. He did know that a blessed child grows into a blessed adult. He knew the vitality of investing properly in a child’s life while they were still a child. The child in you needs to know their true Father! As we run to the altar in our fully grown bodies, God hears the pitty-patters of our little feet – and that, He really wants to heal and flow His power through. It’s time we get done running into all the wrong arms, just going round the same circle. If your feet could speak they’d probably tell of how they may have grown larger but still badly aching from the running around. Sin or selling yourself short will never win you the peace you are seeking.
My dear reader, be set free, completely free from whatever scars the past imposed. Hush Child, cry no more! Share this with someone who needs it. Let’s form a community, a city, a nation, a world; of healed, refreshed and refined children of God. I may or may have not hit the nail on the head on this one, but I know for sure with every cell in my body, that a little child somewhere has finally wiped the soft salty tears off their cheeks and will forever smile as they get lost in the embrace of their Father. Please reach out however you can and let me know what this piece does for you.
Run little feet! Your father awaits you!
To God be the glory and honour. Our true Father!