I learned a little more about God from Jeb Thomas the other Sunday morning. Jeb is two years old. One might think that, at age 59, I should already be a little bit ahead of Jeb. But in this case, he taught me — all over again — one of Scipture's great truths.
Yes, it could be a little humbling to learn spiritual lessons from a two-year-old. But I've learned to be grateful for every new insight, every re-run of an old lesson, and every communication from God, no matter the age of His messenger. Jeb and his brother Bo, 5, and their parents Sam and Nikki are one of my favorite young families of all time.
On this particular morning I had the pleasure of sitting next to the Thomas family at Church on a Sunday morning worship. For a long time — a really long time for a two-year-old — Jeb stood motionless just in front of his dad and gazed intently up at Sam. The toddler stood perfectly still, leaning against Sam's knees and looking up seriously at his face. Waiting. Patient. Longing. Expecting.
His wait finally paid off. Eventually, Sam turned his head down toward his son, a gentle smile crossing his face. Jeb didn't just smile back. Jeb grinned ear to ear and beamed like a thousand-watt light bulb had been turned on in his heart. It was an expression of his unbridled joy, just to receive the look of love in his dad's eyes.
I know it's something others have taught me before, but Jeb and Sam illustrated the principle so eloquently, without ever speaking a word. They gave me something I really needed that morning — a brand new snapshot of the joyful relationship that should exist between God the Father and His child. If I keep my eyes on Him, His smile will always invite me into that same state of joy.
Another picture comes to mind, a snapshot from a very different setting a couple of years back. Nine-year-old Max and Chris Palmer-Jeffery (his dad) and I were assigned to a jeep together on safari at Kenya's Masai Mara Game Reserve.
“Oh, great!” I thought. “A stuffy Brit and his spoiled son — what rotten luck!” They made short work of shaming me for my prejudice. Max and Chris quickly won a place in my heart as I discerned the remarkable depth in their relationship.
As our driver maneuvered us across the plains and forded the creeks, Max exemplified the exuberance of any kid tracking elephants, hippos and lions on his first safari. But he far surpassed the average nine-year-old with his inquisitive mind, quick eye and good memory.
That it was a photo safari made little difference to him. He clearly reflected his dad's deep interest in the wildlife that surrounded us. He studied our guide's handbook, and soon displayed the same respect Chris had for the magnificent creatures we saw. After two days of buffalo, wildebeest, zebras, cheetah, leopards, lions, impala, gazelles and elephants, our time was up.
We boarded our 12-passenger, single-engine Cessna for a 45-minute flight back to Nairobi. We were flying into a terrific thunderstorm. Furthermore, we would have to land at two more camps to pick up additional passengers. Our pitiful little plane rose reluctantly, shaking and sputtering into the dark turbulence, rain blowing in the window beside the cockpit.
“This is not the highlight of my days in the Mara,” I mumbled to myself uneasily. Then I noticed Chris and Max across the aisle. The little plane had hardly left the ground when Max, exhausted from his adventure, flopped his head down in his dad's lap. Instantly, he was fast asleep. He rested soundly through the scary flight while his father rubbed his back gently and smiled with satisfaction.
Max totally trusted his dad to take care of him. Unlike other passengers, he never gave a second thought to the thunder and lightning or the driving rain. He slept securely in his father's arms.
A couple of snapshots worth saving — Jeb's sheer joy, Max's total trust. Pretty good ways to respond to a loving Father.
Randall Murphree is editor of AFA Journal, a monthly publication of the American Family Association.
(This article courtesy of Agape Press.)
