A Child's Heart

(So, this topic will be split into two posts, because I thought that one post would be too long, and that nobody would want to read it!)

This post is not intended to stray from more serious theological matters, to dip into the pool of touchy and feely and cutesy and warm and cuddly (for, though it looks cuddly on the surface, it is of utmost importance); but since I'm looking forward very much to beginning to teach Sunday school for some of the little ones at my church, reading the excerpt for this post struck me more than I think it would otherwise.

Our Lord has revealed in three of the four written gospels (Matthew 18:3-4, 19:14; Mark 10:15; Luke 18:16-17) that we are to enter the kingdom of God as children. But what exactly does this mean? It is clear that this includes, at the least, humbling ourselves as children, not looking to be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 18:4). But is there more than this that we can gain from looking at the lives of children, and at their response to the world around them?

G.K. Chesteron, in his book Orthodoxy, begins, I believe, to uncover the wonders of the simplicity of a child's world view:

When we are very young children we don't need fairy tales: we only need tales. Mere life is interesting enough. A child of seven is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door and saw a dragon. But a child of three is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door. Boys like romantic tales; but babies like realistic tales - because they find them romantic.... This proves that even nursery tales only echo an almost pre-natal leap of interest and amazement. These tales say that apples are golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green. They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember, for one wild moment, that they run with water.

How sad it is when we realize that we, as adults (or even as older children), take for granted all of the things that once sparked joy in our young souls!

I have had some small experience of this in my short life. Growing up in Washington state, I was always surrounded by vast mountain ranges, endless valleys and hills blanketed by the green of trees, and more water than I could ever imagine swimming in. These were all aspects which helped make up the whole of my life: they were what I knew of the world. Then a few years ago, I studied in France for a semester; it was the first time that I had ever lived away from water. During spring break, I traveled with a friend throughout Italy. On one of the first nights, we had unloaded our stuff in the hostel room in Sorrento, and decided to take a walk down at the docks.

I will never forget that night.

I could not see the water, because of the dark of night. However, the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves gently lapping up against the rocks sent a feeling through me that made me stop to rejoice in the grand artistry of God's creation.

Since that night, I always try to remember the beauty of water whenever I look at it. Why must I try to remember? Because the feeling that I had in Sorrento that night was a feeling that I had never experienced before, even though I had lived my entire life around water. I try to remember the beauty of the water because if I don't I will take it for granted.

I am making a new resolution. I will try to do the same for all of God's creation as I have chosen to do with water: namely, I will not take it for granted. When I walk by a tree on my way to school, I will think not only of the sovereign process that the Creator has set in place to nourish and grow and sustain this tree, but also of all of the ways that it helps sustain the life of other creatures in this world. When I see a squirrel cross my path as I walk to my office, I will think upon the complex nature of the makeup of this little organism, and of all of the care that God has put into making something so small, a creature that is not even made after His own image.

I pray that God might change not only my heart, that I might have the humbleness of a child, but my eyes as well, that I might be able to be fascinated once again by the marvelous creation that surrounds me every day.