Thumb in her mouth. Her hair in ringlets, messy and beautiful, framing her olive skinned complexion. Big, dark brown eyes looking out from behind her mother. They had come to see a man. A man who was full of love and compassion. Who could heal the sick with just a touch. Who could turn water into wine. Who could feed a crowd with just a few loaves of bread.
But she was only three and didn’t need a miracle. She wasn’t sick. She was too little to drink wine. And she had just finished eating. No, she wasn’t asking for anything. All she wanted was to see this amazing man that everyone was talking about.
The crowd was getting larger. Lots of mothers and their children were gathering around. It was noisy with crying babies, laughing children and scolding mothers. Little ones were running around, chasing each other. She stood closer to her mother, hanging on tightly to her skirt with one hand, the thumb of her other hand still firmly planted in her mouth. She felt overwhelmed by the busyness and chaos. And with this crowd, she could no longer see the man. Even on the tippiest part of her toes, she was not tall enough. Her mother was holding her baby brother, and couldn’t lift her up to catch a glimpse. And so she waited, trying not to panic with the noise and the confusion and the disappointment of not being able to see this man she had heard so many stories about.
Other men came through the crowd, trying to gain control of the situation. Hushing children. Asking mothers to take their babies home, saying that this man was too busy with important things to be bothered by such random chaos. Saddened, mothers began to gather their children to go, ashamed that they had dared to hope that this man could touch their children.
The little girl watched as people began to walk away. Tears of disappointment ran down her little face. Why couldn’t she see him? She wouldn’t stay long. She wouldn’t ask for anything. Just to see his face.
And then she heard a voice, saying, “Don’t turn them away. Children have the heart that I am looking for.” She turned to see him motioning for her to come close. She looked up at her mother who encouraged her that it was alright. Slowly she let go of her mother’s hem and walked toward this man, thumb still firmly held between her lips. He held out his hand to hold hers and bring her close. “Hi! My name is Jesus. I’m so glad you came.” A smile formed on her face, around the thumb, as he pulled her up onto his lap. She looked up into face and he was smiling, too. As she leaned in against his chest, she could hear his heart beating and felt safe and secure. The grip on her thumb began to loosen. “I love you, sweet child,” he whispered into the top of her mess of curls. And with both hands now free, she reached up and took his face in her hands, her eyes looking directly into his and said, “I love you too, Jesus.” Tears formed in Jesus’ eyes as he saw the sincerity of this little heart, and heard the depth of love in her little lisp.
Her little brother was crying now and her mother called for her to come, so she slid down from his lap to rejoin her family. She hadn’t asked for anything, but had received everything in that short time on Jesus lap. As she left she blew him a kiss, and skipped alongside her mother, no longer holding her skirt. No longer afraid. No more thumb in her mouth. A mouth now free to sing in a loud lisp as she danced along, “Jesus loves me, this I know…”
