I often hear parents talk about how rambunctious their grown children were when they were young—how they would have their hands into everything that wasn’t theirs. How they would talk a stranger’s ear off. How they would break down and throw a fit in public when they didn’t get their way.
Honestly, my parents didn’t have these problems with me, not to say I didn’t come with my own share of unique problems.
I was shy. I had some unclear speech disorder that wasn’t properly diagnosed. I was an only child for seven years, until my sister came along. Yeah, I was that kid who played the first Nintendo Entertainment System and only had a few select friends who played with me. And the rest was all imagination.
I remember being about four years old and walking around the small town grocery store with my dad. Our home was about 15-20 minutes from the well-lit store, and it was a happy occasion to get to go with Dad for a dinner run. This was a time when stores were a more decorated for every holiday—individual and custom decorations for each season. Every once in a while, I would even get to pick out a toy from the isle across from the cereal. I don’t think my parents will ever realize how a five dollar piece of plastic would make my day.
So there I was walking through the store with wide eye wonder holding my dad’s hand. Then all of a sudden, I looked up and the hand I was holding was not my dad’s. This was terrifying for a four-year-old. He was a complete stranger, and I didn’t know where my dad was. My young brain couldn’t comprehend how this had happened. One minute, I was with my dad, and the next, a perfect stranger.
The older man looked down at me and said, “You’re a cute, little guy, but you’re not mine.” I turned all over to finally find my dad standing nearby and quickly reached out for his hand—embarrassed, frightened, confused; I wanted to cry, but I wasn’t one of those kids.
As an adult now, occasionally I’ll see small children who lose their mom or dad at a grocery store. A painful terror comes over them, and after a few seconds of desperately looking all around and realizing the scary truth of their situation, their eyes begin to water, their lips quiver, and then they cry. A loud cry from someplace in pain. Sometimes a scream, as all the other children continue walking quietly holding their parent’s hand, wondering what’s wrong with that kid.
Sometimes I get discouraged being a believer in this modern world. I’m bombarded with so many anti-Christ statements, philosophies, and ideologies yelled from rooftops. I see them printed online, in magazines, in newspapers, on television, and cluttered all over social media. I start to think that the whole world holds these same views, while a few others and myself are the only ones who still attempt to have some sort of desire to follow Christ.
But I’ve learned this is not true. The church is well. The church is strong. The church is winning. This is because the church is God’s bride, and God’s faithful to his bride. And in the end, God wins.
This world is full of believers who seriously love the Lord. Famous rock stars, actors, writers, artists, athletes, politicians. They are all out there and living for the Lord.
But why can’t we hear them? Why don’t we hear true Christians proclaiming their beliefs all over the media?
Because they aren’t lost.
They are holding their father’s hand.
Children aren’t terrified when they have their father’s hand. Believers have a peace that the lost children don’t understand.
Lost children in this world cry. They shout out. They don’t understand. They are angry. They hurt others. They take, steal, lie. They are hurting. They do anything they can to help themselves because they are lost—without a father.
It’s sad really. So very sad.
When we see the lost world, let’s remind ourselves that we are not losing simply because we are quiet. Let’s remind ourselves that we aren’t alone just because other believers aren’t yelling out. We are just at peace holding our father’s hand—the very best place to be.