We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat

Erik in a highchair 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's. 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."