Jesus Loves the Little Children

When I was but a young sprout, I spent a fair portion of my early days with my grandparents in Rohnerville. They were a pair of seasoned souls who imparted upon me a wealth of knowledge—bits and pieces that have clung to me like burrs to the tail of a dog.

They taught me to be kind and respectful, to mind my manners, and to speak only when I had something worth saying. They hammered into me the virtues of standing my ground and giving folks the benefit of the doubt. They were firm as granite in their ways when it came to discipline.

Now, as a child, those lessons of discipline often felt as if they lacked a certain softness or tenderness. Only later in life did I understand their intentions were rooted in love. More than once, I found myself on the receiving end of a switch, my grandparents debating whether they were “whippin’ the devil” out of me or “switchin’ some sense” into me.”

Either way, it sure got my attention “right quick.”

“Jesus Loves the Little Children,” my mother would say whenever I grumbled about the latest chastisement from her mother.

One particular Saturday morning, I got the rare permission to run errands in town with a friend. We ended up at some rickety old wooden buildings we had no business entering, all for the lure of a couple of Milky Way bars.

In that store, I met a younger Indian boy about my age. On a whim, I invited him home for lunch. I could tell by his tattered clothes that he was poor.

His eyes lit up when I mentioned having bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches and soup. I figured we would shoot some marbles after we ate, maybe run around the yard, toss a ball, or climb a tree.

As we were about to say blessings, Grandma turned around and did a double-take. Children did not sit at the table in our house—that is how things were.

An uneasy silence settled over us, and I could tell I was about to find myself on the short end of the stick, as it were. Thinking fast, I started singing “Jesus Loves the Little Children.”

It touched Grandma, but because I knew the rules, it did not spare me the rod from Grandpa after my two friends had gone home. Often, I wondered why the Holy Spirit saw fit to step into the kitchen that day but did not follow me out to the woodshed later.