by Nancy Dahlberg
One year our family spent the holidays in San Francisco with my husband’s
parents. Christmas was on a Sunday that year, and in order for us to be back at
work on Monday, we had to drive the four hundred miles back home to Los Angeles
on Christmas Day.
When we stopped for lunch in King City, the restaurant was nearly empty. We
were the only family, and ours were the only children. I heard Erik, our
one‐year‐old, squeal with glee: “Hi there. Hi there.” He pounded his fat baby
hands—whack, whack—on the metal tray of the high chair. His face was alive with
excitement, eyes wide, gums bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled, chirped, and
giggled. Then I saw the source of his merriment—and my eyes could not take it
all in at once. It was a man wearing a tattered rag of a coat, obviously bought
eons ago, and dirty, greasy, worn pants. His toes poked out of used‐to‐be shoes,
and his shirt had ring‐around‐the‐collar all over. He had a face like none
other—with gums as bare as Erik’s. “Hi there, baby,” the disheveled man
said.
“Hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster.” My husband and I exchanged a look that
was a cross between “What do we do?” and “Poor devil.” Our meal came, and the
cacophony continued. Now the old bum was shouting from across the room: “Do you
know patty‐cake? Atta boy—do ya know peek‐a‐boo? Hey, look—he knows
peek‐a‐boo!”
Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hi there.” Every call was echoed. Nobody
thought it was cute. The guy was a drunk and a disturbance. I was embarrassed.
My husband, Dennis, was humiliated. Even our six‐year‐old said, “Why is that old
man talking so loud?”
As Dennis went to pay the check, he whispered for me to get Erik and meet him
in the parking lot. Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or
Erik, I prayed as I bolted for the door.
It was soon obvious that both the Lord and Erik had other plans. As I drew
closer to the man, I turned my back, trying to sidestep him—and any air he might
be exhaling. As I did, Erik, with his eyes riveted on his new friend, leaned far
over my arm and reached out with both hands in a baby’s “pick me up”
position.
In the split second of balancing my baby and turning to counter his weight, I
came eye‐to‐eye with the old man. Erik was lunging for him, arms spread
wide.
The bum’s eyes both asked and implored, “Would you let me hold your
baby?”
There was no need for me to answer because Erik propelled himself from my
arms into the man’s. Suddenly a very old man and very young baby clutched each
other in a loving embrace. Erik 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—roughened by grime and pain and hard labor—gently, so gently, cradled
my baby’s bottom and stroked his back.
I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a
moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm,
commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.”
Somehow I managed to squeeze the words “I will” from a throat that seemed to
have a stone lodged in it.
He pried Erik from his chest—unwillingly, longingly—as though he were in
pain.
I held my arms open to receive my baby, and again the gentleman addressed
me.
“God bless you, ma’am. You’ve given me my Christmas gift.” I could only
mutter, “Thanks.” With Erik back in my arms, I hurried toward the car. Dennis
wondered why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly and saying, “My God, my
God, forgive me.”
Looking ahead…
Imagine for a moment viewing the world from a baby’s perspective. Everything
would fascinate you: the bright colors, the strange noises, and most certainly,
the people. You’d want to touch, taste, and explore each one. Would you avert
your eyes at the sight of a friendly bum? Of course not—even if he was
toothless. Curious and trusting, you would return the bum’s smile, then hold out
your hands to give him a hug.
Babies see the world in a different light, don’t they? They don’t worry about
what others think, and they don’t prejudge others on the basis of appearance.
Unfortunately, as adults we tend to go “blind”—to each other and to those around
us—to what God is doing in our world. This week we’ll talk about how we can
learn to see in a fresh way— through God’s loving eyes.
- James C Dobson
From Night Light For Couples, by Dr. James
& Shirley Dobson
Copyright © 2000 by James Dobson, Inc. All rights
reserved.
“Hi There!” by Nancy Dahlberg. Taken from American Baptist, December 1981.
Used by permission.