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A Letter from
Your Father Dear Precious Daughter, Daughter, I know that you have made wrong choices, you have sinned. All men have sinned. That is why I sent my Son Jesus into the world. He gave his life for you. You do not have to feel guilty or bad because of bad things that may have been done to you. My Son Jesus died so that all these sins can be forgiven and forgotten if you will say to me now... "Father, I accept
your love for me, I believe in your Son Jesus. I believe
he died for me. I believe he rose again and now lives in
Heaven. I ask you to forgive me. I trust you with my life
and ask that you give me your Holy Spirit to live with
me." A Love Story We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair. Suddenly Erik squealed and said "Hi there." He pounded his hands on the high-chair tray and wriggled and giggled with merriment. I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat, dirty, greasy and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. "Hi there, baby. I see ya, buster," the man said to Erik. My husband and I exchanged looks, "What do we do?" Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, "Do ya know patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a boo." Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence, all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments. We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door. "Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik," I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to side-step him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's pick-me-up position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man's. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love relationship. Erik, in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain and hard labor gently, so gently cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, "You take care of this baby." Somehow I managed, "I will," from a throat that contained a stone. He pried Erik from his chest unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby and the man said, "God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift." I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me." I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgement, a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking...."Are you willing to share your son for a moment?", when He shared His for an eternity. The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, "To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children." Double Digits The stove buzzer broke
through the late night activities of chopping, browning,
stewing, and stirring the fixing of sloppy joes and baked
beans. Well, this is it I thought. Maggie's canine ears
pricked up at the sound of my voice and mutterings. I
flipped the cake pan over and tentatively tapped the
lukewarm bottom of the bunt pan. "Dear God, please,
please let this turn out." "Maggie, how can
you sleep at a time like this, it is his first double
digit birthday. Are you snoring?" "If we hurry
Maggie, we can still get 4 hours of sleep." I
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