I sat on the wooden steps at the end of our lunch break enjoying the feeling of sun warming my face. I refreshed Instagram and checked a couple of emails while he climbed on the playground equipment across the dirt path. I looked up from my phone and made eye contact and his grin spread big across his soft cheeks. He jumped down from the ladder and raced toward the path to wave hello with a coy look in his eyes. He spun around and ran past where he’d come from to a patch of grass sprinkled with butter yellow flowers. He leaned down to choose one and bounded back toward me, his grin wider than before. I climbed down the steps to meet him and crouched down to experience all of the preciousness this moment could hold. He thrust the flower into my hand and smiled sheepishly, looking up at me from below his baseball cap. He’s just someone’s precious little boy.
I stood under the blazing heat of midday sun, squinting hard at the task before me. He stood beside me, face stern with focus loading the logs onto the bulky machine to cut. We developed quite the rhythm: him loading and cutting and me tossing the pieces in a pile to be stacked. He looked up at me and smiled big, blue eyes twinkling. “We make good team!” he exclaimed, a dimple appearing as he loaded another log. I nodded enthusiastically as sawdust rained down on me, my ears humming. Our work was finished and the machine was put away and I held up my gloved hand for a high-five and he grinned again as his hand slapped mine. He’s just someone’s precious little boy.
We loaded ourselves and the six containers onto the ATV to drive back to the sawmill. I balanced myself on the seat, facing backward to hold 3 of the containers. He faced forward, simultaneously driving and holding the remaining containers. We sped down the straightaway stretch toward the sawmill and the wind caught the front containers just right, flipping them over our heads bouncing down the road. He whipped around to look at me, laughter filling the air. We slowed to a stop and both laughed even harder, recounting the events that had just taken place. “Oops!” he exclaimed with laughter, switching the machine into reverse to retrieve our things. He’s just someone’s precious little boy.
This past month, we lived and worked alongside 20 men in the process of recovering from drug and alcohol abuse. Almost all had been imprisoned at some point, yet over and over again I was reminded that they were just little boys inside big men’s bodies, expected to do better. From 4-year-old Edvin, the son of one of the leaders, to 84-year-old Vassili, they are all beloved children of God. They experience joy and need affection and do silly things. They require grace at times and want to give of themselves and be told that it’s enough. We celebrated birthday’s together, laughed together and lived life together and it continued to come up for me: he’s just someone’s little boy.
I used to be ridiculously afraid of only having boys and no girls. I know how to relate to little girls: dresses and bows and princesses and glitter. Boys intimidated me. A couple of years ago, I began to nanny for the sweetest family and spent lots of time with their little boys. Over time, I began to think that I’d be ok with boys. This month, during one of our last prayer night, I found myself asking God to bless me with sweet, patient little boys in abundance. As the words exited my mouth, I was surprised. Really? A men’s drug and alcohol rehabilitation center has made me ask for male children? If I’ve learned anything at all in this process, I know one thing for sure: God works in the strangest ways.
