The Child and his Father

Karina and I were planning our Sabbath School lesson for tomorrow morning - we teach the Junior-Teens at College Church - and Karina found this wonderful parable about the difference you can make in a child's life. It really helped me to see just how important it is to be a good role model! 

It was too good not to share. :)

The Child and his Father

 
First Parable:
I took a little child’s hand in mine. He and I were to walk together for while. I was to lead him to the Father. It was a task that overcame me, so awful was the responsibility. I talked to the little child of the Father. I painted the sternness of the Father’s face were the child to displease Him. We walked under the tall trees. I said the Father had the power to send them crashing down, struck by His thunderbolts. We walked in the sunshine. I told him the greatness of the Father who made the burning, blazing sun.

And one twilight we met the Father. The child hid behind me, for he was afraid: he would not look up at the face so loving. He remembered my picture; he would not put his hand in the Father’s hand. I was between the child and the Father. I wondered. I had been so conscientious, so serious.

Second Parable:
I took a little child’s hand in mine. I was to lead him to the Father. I felt burdened by the multitude of things I was to teach him. We did not ramble; we hastened from spot to spot. At one moment we compared the leaves on the different trees, in the next we were examining a bird’s nest. While the child was questioning me about it, I hurried him away to chase a butterfly. Did he chance to fall asleep, I wakened him, lest he should miss something I wanted him to see. We spoke of the Father often and rapidly. I poured into his ears all the stories he ought to know. But we were interrupted often by the coming of the stars, which we must study; by the gurgling brook, which we must trace to its source.
 

And then in the twilight we met the Father. The child merely glanced at Him. The Father stretched out His hand, but the child was not interested enough to take it. Feverish spots burned on his cheeks. He dropped to the ground exhausted and fell asleep. Again I was between the child and the Father. I wondered. I had taught him so many, many things.

Third Parable:
I took a little child’s hand in mine to lead him to the Father. My heart was full of gratitude for the glad privilege. We walked slowly. I suited my steps to the short steps of the child. We spoke of the things the child noticed. Sometimes it was one of the Father’s birds; we watched it build its nest, we saw the eggs that were laid. We wondered, later, at the care it gave its young. Sometimes we picked the Father’s flowers, and stroked their soft petals and loved their bright colours. Often we told stories of the Father. I told them to the child and the child told them to me. We told them, the child and I, over and over again. Sometimes we stopped to rest, leaning against the Father’s trees, and letting His air cool our brows, and never speaking.
 

And then in the twilight we met the Father. The child’s eyes shone. He looked up lovingly, trustingly, eagerly, into the Father’s face; he put his hand into the Father’s hand. 

I was for the moment forgotten. I was content.