The Little Boy

When I was three or four years old, I was the only son of a church intern on his way to becoming the pastor God called him to be.

For many reasons, I was put into daycare during this time. One of the daycares I was entrusted to was in a lady’s home where she took care of several children including her own son. I grew to hate being put in this daycare and told my mother I never wanted to go back. I was unable to express a good reason for my feelings.

Recently, I was in a prayer ministry class where part of the training is to go through the process of being counseled. One afternoon, I felt I needed to bring up the daycare issue. With God’s help, I was able to remember more details of that time without the mumbo jumbo of hypnotism or regression techniques.

I remembered an incident at this daycare where I was skipping around the house and babbling nonsense words. The lady in charge scolded me for using vulgar language. My words may have sounded like vulgar references to body parts, but I didn’t realize that. I also realized there were other similar incidents that happened.

As a result, I felt dirty inside and ashamed without fully understanding why. I was made to feel this way most of the times I was in that daycare. I believe this tainted my outlook on life somewhat.

Later in my life, if I pursued a relationship or anything that wasn’t 100% sanctioned by the church, I always doubted my true motives in pursuing it. I usually had some sort of inner struggle to try anything that seemed new or different. These pent up feelings were the result of that first event in my life and I later built on them. I began to feel that I would never be truly accepted by God or my parents.

In the counseling session, I was led in a prayer of forgiving the daycare lady for making me feel this way. Then I needed to ask for forgiveness for the resentment I held for this lady and even my parents. As in my past counseling sessions, which were concerning my pent up anger at my father, I trusted that God had and was continuing to heal me.

My group leader who counseled me in this, prayed for me also. He prayed for the hurt little boy inside of me to be healed and for the Lord to grow him up. In my heart, I wasn’t sure why he chose that approach until I was in church the following Sunday.

During worship, we sang an old song called Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus. It goes on to say, “Look full in His wonderful face.” As a child, I had always thought of sitting on Jesus’ lap and He would rest His forehead on mine, and we would look into each other’s eyes whenever that song was sung. Now I saw myself there on His lap once again feeling no shame and knowing nothing to interfere with feeling His love for me. I wept like that little boy.

As Huey Lewis sings: That’s the power of Love.

Bohemian Avenue #9

I am a ghost.

Don’t let the movies or anyone fool you. Ghosts haunt people, not old empty houses, though location is an important factor. There has to be some kind of connection between the ghost and the place and the one he or she haunts.

I haunt a place from my childhood, a place that is strongly imprinted in my memory. It’s a lovely old building in the middle of a big city that houses many beautiful children with high ideals and faraway eyes that no longer seem to see the decay that is right outside the fence they and their guardians have put up.

I’ve wandered the street outside many times to see other ghosts—not unlike myself—with a toehold on life and the old bulldog Death’s jaws locked onto them. Those jaws shift from time to time to get a stronger grip.

Who do I haunt? It’s one of those beautiful children I told you about. In life, I was related by blood to her. That is the tie between us. I might not have been so bound if she hadn’t at one time perceived my existence, but she’s managed to shut me out of all her senses now.

I watch her without the power of helping or even hindering her activities. I can see her joys and pain, but I can’t give a word of encouragement or stop her from making a mistake. It is hard sometimes to have to watch the events of her life helplessly.

It’s too late now. I am caught and bound with my only hope of being free to wander again is in the day she no longer returns to our place of connection.