A Baby's Hug

(Courtesy of Kasey Baby)

A Baby's Hug
>
> We were the only family with chil dren 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 merriment.
>
>
>
> 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, reciproc ated with his cute comments.
>
>
>
> We finally got through the meal a nd 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 bot tom 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 wa s saying, 'My God, my God, forgive me.'
>
>
>
> I had just witnessed Chri st'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.
>
>
>
> 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 t h a t 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.
>
>
>
> >
> 'It is better to be liked for the true you, than to be loved for who
> people
> think you are......'