Behold Your Little Ones

I confess, I didn't think they could do it. When Brother Dalton, our resident member of the MoTab, came to Primary last summer intending to teach the children The Battle of Jericho, I raised a significant mental eyebrow. Wouldn't it be better to take a familiar song - you know, like I Am A Child of God - and really polish it, than to spend several confusing minutes every week clapping crazy rhythms and singing difficult dialects? Don't get me wrong, I fully support and appreciate choral music, but as I watched our primary boys s t r u g g l e to maintain a single, recognizable pitch while singing Jo-shwa.fit.the.battle.yes.the.battle.of.J-e-rico, Josh-wa.fit.the.battle.yes.the.battle.of.J-e-rico, in proper time, I wondered if there might not be a better choice. I dutifully and enthusiastically clapped and memorized alongside my class and the other children until I was released from Primary in September. But I was a doubter.

Well, today, at the end of our combined adult/youth meeting, the Primary children filed onto the stage and sang their song. It was energetic. It was precise. They were proud. I was a little teary eyed. *Sniff, sniff.* Wish you could have heard them hollering, "''Cause da battle am in my hand!"

I reminded myself on the way home from church: never underestimate the power and potential of children.

A few days ago I read the familiar Matthew account of Jesus placing a child in the midst of a multitude and teaching,"Whosoever...shall humble himself as [a] little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven." And I thought about a little child I know.

I thought about how often I correct and redirect her. Constantly. And she, really, is so responsive. I wondered how my life might change if I sought Heavenly Father's corrective voice as much as (or even more than) I seek his comforting hand and his intervening arm.

I thought about a child's prayer.

Just tonight I was searching around the house for my Primary songbook. The one with my grandmother's love penned on the inside cover. And I couldn't find it. Lucy, watching me search, suggested a prayer. After kneeling, she began immediately, "Poor Mom, Heavenly Father. We lost the songbook. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen." She didn't ask for help to find it, but she didn't need to. The empathy in her voice melted my heart and, I'm sure, penetrated the heavens. There is nothing like a child's prayer.

Or like a child's grateful heart. Lucy has been overflowing with gratitude lately. Yesterday in the car: "I'm so glad I have eyeballs!!" Today at lunch: "I love bagels! I'm so grateful for bagels!" You can bet that the blessing-counting is contagious. It's hard to stay glum around such gratitude.

Another thing I find exemplary about children is their ability to find joy and new learning from repetition. I know my daughter isn't the only one who asks for the same story over and over and over (and over and over). And all the while I'm gagging on the familiar phrases, she is intent and enraptured, maybe pointing out newly discovered subtleties or simply delighting in the much-loved characters and images. That seems instructive to scripture reading, doesn't it? Makes me determined to approach 1 Nephi with the enthusiasm Lucy brings to Jane's Animal Expedition. Even on the 1209th reading.

OK. I know I've pretty much said this all before, so I won't belabor the point.

I just wanted to thank heaven for the children in my life. The ones down the hall (fighting sleep) and all of those like them: observant but not judgemental. So sincere. So forgiving. Full of love. Full of life. Full of all the things I want to fill up with.