My five year old son never sleeps. His tiny body is full of energy, sweat, laughter, and pure innocence. Every night it’s the same routine: we’ll sing a song, read a story, say a prayer. We’ve tried everything, but as soon as I leave the room, I hear the Thomas the Train theme being sung from his bedroom.
At least an hour will pass with no crying, no complaining…just the sounds of a young boy finding joy in life past his official bedtime. Eventually I go back into his room and sit on the edge of his bed. Often times, I have to remove action figures and battery-operated toy cars from underneath his pillow. But this has become my favorite moment in the day, because the conversations we have reflect an innocent heart and mind that is so precious to me.
We talk about the things little boys talk about—cars, wrestling moves, why we don’t hit our brother, our love for ice cream, and sometimes even God. At the end of each of our talks, I tell him that I have a secret. I lean in close to his ear and wait for the silence to break with a little giggle. The waiting is worth it, because this is quite possibly my favorite sound in the entire world.
“I love you,” I whisper to him. He giggles some more, and then leans into my ear.
“I wuv you too daddy.” He has a little trouble pronouncing the letter “L”, which could be due to the fact that he’s my only son born in Kentucky and has picked up a little southern twang.
But soon, the whispering won’t be as funny. The discussion on which superhero is best will have lost its intrigue. The Thomas songs won’t be as catchy (which wouldn’t be THAT bad). The small little mispronunciations will be gone. And I’m beginning to mourn the fact that his sleepless nights will no longer be caused by an overflow of energy, but an awareness of the weight the world carries with it and his own experiences with pain and disappointment and heartache.
It’s not just about the late night talks. It’s the fact that I know he is turning into a “big boy”; a boy that will, before I know it, become a man. I pray that each step along the way, we will still have talks…even though the topics of discussion will change. But I will always remember my little boy who never wanted to sleep, and whose lone act of defiance is humming a song about a blue train that fell off the track while he’s supposed to be sleeping.
The other day, with all of this on my mind, I simply asked him if he would stop growing for daddy. I told him I felt like he was getting too big, and that I wanted him to be my little boy forever. He thought about it for awhile, and then looked at me with a very solemn face.
“Daddy, living things have to grow!”
I’m not sure how my four year old has grasped this early on in his life, but it’s a profound truth. Maybe Dora the Explorer taught him along with other important Spanish phrases like, “I love my backpack.” Or maybe it’s just instinct. Either way, the implications of this simple statement spoke to me.
I long for a living faith–a faith that inspires, a faith that calls others to action, a faith that challenges, a faith that breathes life into those around me. But there’s been many days in my past where my faith has been, for lack of a better word, dead. There was no growth in my heart, no movement in my spirit towards loving God more, and no pouring out of love to those around me.
In Luke 13, Jesus is faced with a firestorm of tough questions about the headline news during this time. In the middle of ritual sacrifices in the temple, Pilate had ordered his soldiers to take up arms and fight. To make matters worse, a tragedy happened when 18 people were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them. People everywhere were wondering how to reconcile the brokenness and pain that comes with this world. Jesus responded in verses 2-5 with this:
“Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.”
I think it’s obvious to see that we live in a culture that demands answers to a world filled with hurt. Many times, their questions are directed towards God, or a god of their choosing. Why do natural disasters happen? Why do good people suffer? Why can’t everyone just get along?
This wasn’t the first time Jesus spoke to the major social issues and tragic events of His time. Every time, there was a common theme: personal repentance. He points us back to our own hearts, to our own holiness, and to our own personal transformation…and He calls us to repent.
And in this, we see that Jesus was teaching us the reality that when the people of God fail to bear fruit, the world goes hungry. He knew the truth before my son did: that living things grow! Therefore, someone that isn’t being transformed by his love and grace is, quite simply put…dead.
Many of you are living on a campus that needs God’s restoration. You are surrounded by people that think living is as simple as waking up in the morning and following what their heart wants. They are busy chasing the American dream and living in the luxury of independence that they miss the reality of God’s abundant life that He desires for each one of us. As a Christian, it can be overwhelming, and often lead to compromise or discouragement. In this, many students decide the grass is greener on the other side, and enter into a place with so many rules that they lose their effectiveness in communicating with the world completely! Other compromise all together and give up all God has for them and they pursue a life of comfort & chase all the world has to offer.
But wherever you are, I think Jesus has one message for you. Change. Become. Obey. Follow. GROW. We are called to a living faith.
