Monday, October 15, 2012

Wisdom from Little Ones

There are moments that make me smile, and moments that make me stop and realize how little I understand.  And there are children who seem to be restless, unable to settle into the atrium.  They wiggle, don't look at me and seem to be in another world when receiving a presentation.  Then out of their mouths come some of the most beautiful and profound words, and I realize that no, they aren't listening to me, thank the Lord.  Rather they are hearing the sweet whispers of the Holy Spirit in their hearts.  They can tune to those whispers easier than I, they have fewer obstructions blocking their vision, their hearts are more open.  Those are the moments when all the work is forgotten.  Those are the moments when all the frustrations, complaints, broken materials, and long hours disappear.  Those are the moments I learn to be still and to listen with them.  And when I stop, and listen with them, these are the things I am blessed to hear:

A child at the baptism area, lighting his candle over and over again:

"They had light, and more lights, and no dark.  Had a meal, then it was night and they went to bed.  It was all light so no hurtness could be around.  Seven candles, then they had light in the world, but not the sun."
A third year child crossing himself as he prays in the baptismal area


Another morning a child sang these words while lighting his candle:

"Light, light, light.
God is good.
He loves us, He loves us.
Spirit."
A second year child at the Mystical Supper materials

Months later, that same child, a four year old boy, spent 20 minutes at the model altar, asking me to sing song after song.  Then he completed his work and went over to the baptism area.  Once his baptismal candle was lit, he stood before the table for several minutes, lifting his light up into the air over his head, singing softly over and over again:

"My light is growing, my light is growing."


301. wiggly, jumpy little boys
302. sweet words from children
303. unconditional love from little ones
305. brutal honesty because all they know to tell you is the truth
306. children who don't worry about how poorly I sing, and instead can hear the beauty of the words in spite of my inability to carry a tune
307. mornings in the atrium, where I too can learn to slow down and be still, and know that He is God

3 comments:

elizabeth said...

what a blessing!

Cassie said...

Well, not nearly as meaningful as what you experienced, but you must ask Amanda about Nathaniel singing "Alvin and the Chipmunks" during Atrium yesterday morning. Pretty sure it's a first, and maybe the ONLY, time that happens. haha

Michelle M. said...

Beautiful!