My youngest grandchild, known as Weston the Wonder Boy, turned three a while back. He sleeps in a big boy bed at his own house but I’ve still been putting him down in the baby bed when he naps here. It wasn’t a conscious effort to baby him as much as one of those habitual things you do because you haven’t thought to switch gears. Until now. I’ve officially graduated Weston from the crib and the back story for the move is too fun not to share.
The other night my daughter-in-law was bringing Weston over to the house when he announced to anyone listening that he had his own little blanket at Keggie’s.
“That’s nice,” Carey said.
Weston grinned and added, “Keggie keeps it in my little cage.”
I love that story. I’ve told a dozen or so times since and it’s always good for a laugh. I like to add that I hope Weston hasn’t told anyone outside the family about Keggie’s cage, lest the authorities come knocking on the door. Today, however, I’ve chosen to bring Weston’s cage story to our porch because it bears a truth worth serious consideration.
I suppose I figured Weston knew the baby bed wasn’t a cage because I knew it wasn’t a cage. If so, I was clearly wrong about what Weston knows and doesn’t know. That’s no big deal when we’re talking about baby beds and cages but if we turn the subject to eternity, the stakes change drastically.
It’s dangerous for us to assume our little ones will come to know and believe simply because we take them to church and place them in the care of devoted Sunday School teachers and children’s ministry leaders, even if we have trusted servants at those helms. We alone bear the weighty but glorious responsibility of sharing Christ with our kids and grandkids. In the words of Deuteronomy 6:7, “These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.”
As Weston so helpfully illustrated, they don’t know what we don’t tell them.