A baby’s hug

Just got this in an email and thought I ought to share. Hope you get as much from it as I did. Thanks, Twyla.


May the Spirit of Christmas inhabit your heart and your life every day is my prayer.

~ A Baby’s Hug ~
We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a
high chair and noticed everyone was quietly sitting and talking.
Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, ‘Hi.’ He pounded his fat baby
hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his
mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with
I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose
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; hi there, big boy.. I
see ya, buster,’ the man said to Erik.
My husband and I exchanged looks,
‘What do we do?’
Erik continued to laugh and answer, ‘Hi.’
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 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 sidestep 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.
Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their
love and kinship. 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, 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 and
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, lovingly and 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 judgment; 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 all eternity.
How did God feel when he put his baby in our arms 2000 years ago.
The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, ‘To enter the Kingdom
of God , we must become as little children.’
If this has blessed you, please bless others by sending it on. Sometimes,
it takes a child to remind us of what is really important. We must always
remember who we are, where we came from and, most importantly, how we
feel about others. The clothes on your back or the car that you drive or
the house that you live in does not define you at all; it is how you
treat your fellow man that identifies who you are.
This one is a keeper.
‘It is better to be liked for the true you, than to be loved for who
people think you are……’

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: