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A Childlike Faith
This devotional was written by Leslie Snyder
And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." --Matthew 18:3
I overheard some four- and five-year-old children following their teacher in a familiar cheer. "Give me a J," cheered the teacher. "J," yelled the children. "Give me an "E," encouraged the teacher. "E," yelled the children. The teacher continued, "Give me an "S." "S," chorused the children. Their voices grew louder as the teacher led them to the final letters of "U" and "S." Together they said J-E-S-U-S! With excitement rising, the teacher shouted, "What's that spell?" A strange pause followed and one child finally answered, "I don't know." I couldn't help but laugh at the innocence of the answer.
Kids are like that. They believe what you tell them, celebrate the simple joys of discovery, and become excited when given new ideas and experiences. That is the joy of a childlike faith. Unfortunately, something happens between childhood and adulthood that changes everything. Expectations, pains, failures and disappointments enter the picture and the once joyous innocence of childhood becomes marred. Faith can slowly gives way to cynicism, and hearts that were once open and filled to overflowing become closed, cold and empty.
Jesus calls us, however, to return to a childlike faith. The late author Mike Yaconelli wrote of this "place all children know about." "This voice of our childhood is the voice of wonder and amazement, the voice of God, which has always been speaking to us, even before we were born." He then describes what happens when things change. "One sad day, we are aware of an absence. We can no longer hear the God-voice, and we are left with only silence--not a quiet silence, but a roaring silence."*
Yaconelli suggested the reason we stopped hearing God's voice was not because we wanted to stop hearing it, but that our lives became louder. I am convinced that children have an innate ability to hear the voice of God, and it is that clarity which makes it easy to believe. As we go through life, other noise enters the scene and muffles the once-clear voice of God. Now we must spend the rest of our lives "clearing the air" in order to return to the simple clarity of our childhood.
Jesus invites us to come to Him as little children, eager to be with Him, to simply enjoy His presence. Today, take some time to remember the simple pleasures of childhood. Laugh out loud, sing too loud, lighten your step a little and remember Who waits to share this time with you.
Sometimes children say it the best. Consider this child's prayer: "Dear God, I don't ever feel alone since I found out about you."
The Child's Calling
by Hännah Schlaudt, Crosswalk.com Editorial Assistant
At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, "Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." -- Matthew 18:1-4, ESV
I've never understood this passage better than since I met Aiden. Aiden is almost three, but because he has Down's Syndrome, he functions mentally and physically more like an 18-month old. With a stumping toddle, a baby-belly, and thick glasses, he looks like a wee old man -- until he howls with laughter and steals my heart again.
This winter, a friend's struggle with depression was encapsulated when he said: "All I know is that I've never felt so old." I've noticed this too. When I'm striving to be righteous, when I'm bitter, when grace eludes my sight -- it is then that I feel dry and withered and old. Weariness and discouragement weigh down on the soul.
Aiden intrigues me. He can't really talk yet, but he still earnestly babbles at me with all the inflections and sounds of a conversation. He greets people -- everyone, not just those he knows -- with outstretched arms, a crinkle-faced grin, and "Hiiiii! Hiiiiiiiiiiii!" His siblings and parents get the most tender hugs and kisses from him, and even though I'm just a babysitter, I get my face patted and fierce bear hugs.
Light and music and people are Aiden's favorite things. He dances to DC Talk and Shania Twain with abandon. He laughs until he's nearly in tears over the rainbows cast on the stairs by a chandelier and the afternoon sunlight. And he likes making beards with the bathtub bubbles, just because it makes his sisters giggle.
Delight and trust come easily to this little fellow. He can't understand much, or communicate with folks, but he loves everyone and roars with laughter over the smallest joys. He's only known me a few weeks, but he trusts me. Even when he's being punished for throwing his food, his sunshine joy isn't quenched.
My walk with my Savior ought to be similarly marked, as this passage in Matthew suggests. The humility of a child is in his trust. When I know that I can't do it, when I confess my sin, when I ask the Lord to help me -- then I validate the gospel as I demonstrate my confidence in Jesus. Am I living as I believe he is who he said he is?
My friend's comment about feeling old is true. When I act as if I'm responsible for my standing before God, when I put all my priorities first and forget to ask the Lord what his agenda is, when I refuse forgiveness to another because it's my right -- I'm not faithful to the child's calling. I'm a citizen of the upside-down kingdom of heaven, and if it's true, I have to live it. If God is my Father and Aiden's humble love is my model, then that ancient weariness is broken, and I can walk in the light.
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