Never a Mere Mortal...

Last night I babysat again. Kaitlin and Connor came. Kaitlin is 5 and her brother Connor is 3. They come tearing into the room, Kaitlin is smiling and calling me Ms. Allison and running to give me a hug. I help her take off her coat, then its Connor's turn. As I'm doing this, their mom says, Kaitlin just absolutely loves you. She was so excited to come today and couldn't stop talking about seeing you. I'm not sure what to say to that, so I just tell her we have a lot of fun playing together. Which is entirely true.

Her mom leaves and Kaitlin comes over to hug me. I ask her about school today and what new words she can spell. She's in the middle of spelling something like bus or dog and stops and says, Ms. Allison, I like you. I was certainly caught off guard. That this child wanted my time and attention. We hang out one night a week for a little over two hours and she likes me. I don't understand it at all but it sure is nice. I'm pretty sure God loves on me through those children.

I was telling a friend of mine this story this morning and his response was "Yes he did, and a large part of it is that you allowed "the Jesus in you" to be apparent to the little one, and Jesus is very attractive to those who need Him...plus you are fun, you just have to admit it."

He knows I'm a C.S. Lewis fan so I always perk up when he gives me anything along those lines. This is what he sent along with talking about the Jesus in me, who is the same Jesus in you by the way....

C. S. Lewis on the fact that you've never spoken to a mere mortal:

It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbor. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbor's glory should be laid daily on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendors. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously--no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner.