I learn a lot from children. On any given day, it might be their acceptance of all people. It might be the simplicity of their joy. It might be their untainted innocence and unremitting pursuance of the object of their desires.
In Romania, it was his honesty.
Walking through the park one day in the small city of Lipova where we did ministry for the month, we happened upon a lively little fellow-let’s call him Samuel. He had recently been moved from a children’s home in a nearby city to one in Lipova. Claiming eleven years, he had a boldness and peace surrounding him that caused him to portray someone much older than an adolescent.
He first approached us, informing us that he recognized us from the week before when we spoke at his church. He proceeded to recount each intricate detail of what we had shared that Sunday, reminding me of things I had even forgotten were mentioned.
Then he asked a question-a very honest one that most would expect only from a child, though I’m not quite sure I fully understand why. “Do you talk about Jesus to a lot of people?”
I answered honestly: That before this trip, it was harder for me to share my faith with people. I liked to believe that if I simply lived a life pleasing to the Lord, there wasn’t as much of a need to actually talk about it with people. Really, it was just because it made me uncomfortable. However, being on this journey, I have come to realize the joy in sharing my story, even with strangers. I told him I’m not afraid anymore. And then I mirrored his question back to him. “Do you tell many people about Jesus?”
Out of this confident young man’s voice came honesty: “I would like to, but I don’t have the courage.”
I found joy in sharing with Samuel that he was a leader; it was clear. He would do great things for the kingdom. Christ has all power to make him courageous and bold.
And this young boy’s honesty sparked a realization: How often do we inwardly claim a lack of courage when Christ has promised us both strength and courage? As Samuel was able to express his fear, his weakness, it opened a door for the Father to pour out truth and strength. Sometimes, we’re afraid to even admit fear. This child’s honesty reminded me of the beauty in bringing weakness into the light, for Christ’s power is perfected in weakness. If that is true, then we have no excuse to claim weakness as a reason to keep us from pursuing holy moments.
