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Subject: FW: A BABY'S HUG-A TRUE CHRISTMAS GIFTDate: Wed, 5 Dec 2007 13:23:55
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From: Daniel martin [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] Sent: Wednesday, December 05,
2007 1:16 PMTo: GiGi; Julie Martin; Michelle; Jack Myers; Angelique Myers;
Pete; Taylor; Tony; Wayne; Neal ZouzasSubject: Fwd: A BABY'S HUG-A TRUE
CHRISTMAS GIFT
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--Forwarded Message Attachment--Subject: A BABY'S HUG-A TRUE CHRISTMAS
GIFTDate: Wed, 5 Dec 2007 12:42:52 -0600From: [EMAIL PROTECTED]: [EMAIL
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Long but worth reading......
A Baby's Hug
We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high
chair and noticed everyone was quietly sitting and talking. Suddenly, Erik
squealed with glee and said, 'Hi.' He pounded his fat baby hands on the high
chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a
toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.
I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants
were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes.
His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were
too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a
road map.
We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved
and flapped on loose wrists. 'Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya,
buster,' the man said to Erik.
My husband and I exchanged looks, 'What do we do?'
Erik continued to laugh and answer, 'Hi.'
Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The
old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and
the man began shouting from across the room, 'Do ya patty cake? Do you know
peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo.'
Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk.
My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who
was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn,
reciprocated with his cute comments.
We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to
pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat
poised between me and the door. 'Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks
to me or Erik,' I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying
to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned
over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's 'pick-me-up' position. Before
I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man.
Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love and
kinship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission 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, full of grime, pain, and hard labor,
cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved
so deeply for so short a time.
I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his
eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, 'You
take care of this baby.'
Somehow I managed, 'I will,' from a throat that contained a stone.
He pried Erik from his chest, lovingly and longingly, as though he were in
pain. I received my baby, and the man said, 'God bless you, ma'am, you've given
me my Christmas gift.'
I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik in my arms, I ran for the
car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly,
and why I was saying, 'My God, my God, forgive me.'
I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child
who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who
saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who
was not. I felt it was God asking, 'Are you willing to share your son for a
moment?' when He shared His for all eternity.
The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, 'To enter the Kingdom of God
, we must become as little children.'
If this has blessed you, please bless others by sending it on. Sometimes, it
takes a child to remind us of what is really important. We must always remember
who we are, where we came from, and, most importantly, how we feel about
others. The clothes on your back or the car that you drive or the house you
live in do not define you at all; it is how you treat your fellow man that
identifies who you are.
This one is a keeper.
'It is better to be liked for the true you, than to be loved for who people
think you are......'
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