The Indian family stepped into the elevator with all generations present and accounted for. The roles were quickly apparent; grandmother, mother, daughter, son-in-law, and three kids of various ages smiling with amusement, listening, corralling, and chatting respectively. The banter and one-sided conversation all came from a young boy. My guess is that he is around four to five years old.
‘Why do we need to stop? Where are we going? When do you think we will get there? Do you realize that I can see myself in the mirror on the wall and on the ceiling? Where do I get to sit when I get in the car? Why are we stopping?”
The banter was endless. His bright eyes and cheerful smile expressed a blind enthusiasm for living, learning, and having fun. It was hard to remain uninvolved. I stood next to him looking down in amusement, wondering if I should join him. After a dozen or so questions with little response from anyone in the family, I took the questions as an invitation.
“I am not sure. What do you think?”
Silence. His eyes looked at me with total disbelief. Who was I? Why did I talk to him? The expression on his face suggested that he had no idea where he stood with me. It was a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and possibilities. His parents looked on with amusement. Even grandmother was smiling.
“Are you excited about the holiday? Anything special happening this Lunar New Year?”
Silence. The bewildered stare never moved from my direction.
As we rode down another 30+ stories, I found myself sitting in his shoes. Am I any different than this little boy?
David’s words haunt me in silence. “Let me tell you what God said next. He said, ‘You’re my son, And today is your birthday. What do you want? Name it: Nations as a present? Continents as a prize? You can command them all to dance for you, or throw them out with tomorrow’s trash.’” (Psalm 2.7-9)
I forget I belong. We are members of the same family.
