...so be a big (or not so big) kid

In the last post, I concluded that trying to be an adult is, in many ways, a really bad idea. So this time let’s start exploring what it means to be a kid.

But before we start – is this really a better idea?

If you’ve read many of the posts on this blog you’ll know that the biggest insight my years in fostering has given me is simply this: that God is our Daddy, and we are his children. We are not natural children, we are adopted into his family; that’s why we share so many of the traits of foster kids. And so being a foster parent has proven to be an amazing way to catch a glimpse into the heart of God for us, and to better understanding some of the ways we fall short of all he desires us to be.

It's not a new idea at all. You’ve probably heard more than one sermon on the theme. But we can be confident it’s important, because it comes straight from the Bible. All over the Bible in fact. God wanted us to know this. His love letter to us tells us, again and again, that he is our Daddy, and we are his children. For example:

Psalm 103:13-14 – The compassion God has for his people is like a father for his children; this is why he remembers our weaknesses and treats us with faithful, tender love.

1 John 1:3 – the incomparable love of God has allowed us to become his children, “and that is what we are!” John exclaims, as if he can still hardly believe it.

Romans 8:14-17 & Galatians 4:6-7 – all those led by the Spirit of Gpd are the children of God; the Spirit brought about our adoption, enables us to cry out, “Daddy!”, and testifies to us that we are his children, and makes us his heirs with a full inheritance to look forward to.

(If you want to read more, there’s a lot more detail in the posts, ‘Daddy – the name Jesus chose to use’ and ‘What is this attachment disorder thingy anyway?’)

It would be pretty weird if God made us his children but then wanted us to behave as something else…! Actually, he’s very clear. He underlines his desire to see us live out our child-identities through several places in the gospels where Jesus spends time with children. In some instances Jesus affirms children, taking time to bless them and giving them access to himself (Mark 10, Mathew 19). He accepts what children can offer, taking a child’s packed lunch to feed the 5000 (John 6). He must have often had children hanging around him, because when he wants to illustrate his teaching by pointing at a child, they are there (Matthew 18) – despite the disciples’ best efforts to stop the kids from wasting their Rabbi’s time (Luke 18). Jesus rebukes this attitude, and tells the disciples (who may be confused? humiliated? sulking, even?) that they not only need to allow the children to come, they need to become more like children themselves. “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the Kingdom of heaven,” he warns in Matthew 18v3. And there’s more. In the next few verses of Matthew 18, he adds that welcoming one little child = welcoming Jesus. And that if anyone causes one of these little ones to stumble, it would be better to be dead. And just in case they haven’t got it yet, telling them that they must not despise one of these little ones; their angels always see God’s face.

Quite a slap in the face of a 1st century Palestinian man, in a culture where women were not really regarded as full people – and children were even lower.

I have a hunch that if we actually take these words to heart, they’ll be quite a slap in the face to us too, in our culture: a culture of ‘Grow up!’ and ‘Don’t be a baby!’; a culture of cynicism and comparison and adult humour and Instagram-filter selfies.

What does it mean to “Change, and become like little children”

In this passage, Matthew 18, the immediate context is about seeking greatness. The disciples were arguing, as they frequently did, wanted to know the pecking order in heaven. And Jesus says to be top dog you need to put yourself at the bottom, taking the lowly position of a child. This isn’t so much about being childlike as being humble. Stop competing and trying to get to the top. Don’t argue or even think about being great. Concern yourself with those who are lowly, weak, powerless, wandering.

That’s challenging enough! – but there is more to being childlike than this single concept. If our primary identity in relationship to God is as his children – an identity that is completely unique to the Christian faith, that Jesus brought right to the forefront of his teaching – then it deserves a bit more thought. And as usual, thinking about the foster kids has helped me dig into the idea.

Notice that Jesus’ instruction here starts with, “Unless you change…” This is an identity that we do not naturally adopt. Far from it – the childlike intimacy with which Jesus addressed his Daddy startled the disciples, and the gospel writers, and Paul. They were so shocked that they remembered the very words he used, quoting him verbatim in Aramaic when they wrote their eyewitness accounts and letters decades later. “Abba!” – “Daddy!”. So let’s take the challenge seriously. We could start with the words of Psalm 139:

“Search me, God, and know my heart;

Test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

And lead me in the way everlasting.”

When we realise that our wrong thoughts about ourselves about about God can be offensive – an insult to him and a stumbling block on our walk – and that we are allowing anxiety into our hearts – and that this thinking is part of being led in the right way, the everlasting way, the fulness of life way – then we will take this thinking seriously. We don’t want to be conformed to the pattern of this world. Renew our minds, Lord, as we read and reflect.

So back to the foster kids (I’m so grateful for them!). Last time we looked at all the ways they had learned to be adults too soon, making up for the lack of adult care in their lives – but we also noted that they still relapsed into childhood at times. And that’s where we’re at. We need to be more open to the childlike moments, and more willing to put down the adultlike self reliance.

When did it happen? What can that teach us about ourselves?

Hanh was 17, but he loved silly pranks. He once – and only once – played one on me, hiding behind a corner and jumping out as I passed when we walked into town. That was in the first week of his stay; once he had settled a little, and the initial terror had passed, his mask of adult control never slipped with me again. But when his English teacher came to the house once a week, he relaxed. He didn’t have to play the role with her. And so he joked, claiming to eat tiger, impersonating her accent, feigning a heart attack when she wanted to come at 9am to teach him. He enjoyed feeling he was funny.

He was the same when he got engrossed in a computer game. Forgetting where he was and who he was meant to be, he would shout and squeal and jabber at the screen – until I gave him his tea and broke the spell.

For Hanh, the key was the audience. If he was with someone less crucial, or if he forgot there was anyone else there at all, he could be a child again.

What about us?

• Are there people we play a role for, and others where we’re safe to let go? What’s the difference?

• Are there situations where we get so engrossed we forget to keep our masks straight?

• What happens when we do let go? Do we laugh more? Engage more? Enjoy the moment more?

• How can we shift the balance to be a little more childlike, a little more often?

Harmony was 15, but clung to me like a 5-year-old when we had to get her Covid jab – and she really did want the ‘I was brave today’ plaster the doctor offered. She was genuinely terrified of needles. When she was afraid, she could revert to expressing the needs she actually had, and find comfort in me and in the doctor – she could go back emotionally to the last time she had been properly cared for by adults.

But the fear had to be overwhelming. On the school yard or changing placement or facing a new football club she was as nervous as any teenager, but the chin was up and she was toughing it out herself. Most of the time her own scrutiny was enough to stop her seeking comfort like a child.

For Harmony, it was fear that unlocked the door. When she was driven beyond the limits of her self control, she could be a child again.

What about us?

• Does fear allow us to reach out for support from others? Or are there other triggers that push us to seek help?

• What does comfort look like for us? What forms do we wish we had more of? Can we see reasons why, perhaps looking at our own childhood or life experience?

• Does our own self-control stop us from acknowledging or acting on our need for comfort? Why are we reluctant? What are we afraid of?

• How can we shift the balance to be a little more childlike, a little more often?

Ella was 12, but once she got into a game with the little kids next door she had as much competitive excitement as any of them. Suddenly she was sneaking extra steps in ‘What’s the time Mr Wolf?’, dancing with her bum inches from the floor in Musical Bumps, and squealing whenever the parcel came anywhere near her. Inside, this was the age she actually was, the age she’d got emotionally stuck at as trauma had knocked her sideways. And when she acted her [emotional] age, she was happier, more present, more relaxed.

It would unlock stories too – she’d tell me about happy memories, sometimes big things but usually silly inconsequential events that were truly meaningful for her, that had shaped her. It brought them back into focus and gave her joy.

For Ella, the presence of young children allowed her to go back and act like one of them – and to revisit the joy in some of her own memories.

So let’s consider:

• When we’re with little children – and perhaps without other adults standing by – do we engage differently? What changes?

• How do we feel in those times? Are we happy? Engaged? Relaxed?

• Do we have positive memories that we could revisit more often? What stops us?

• How can we shift the balance to be a little more childlike, a little more often?

Abbie was 11, but after school there was nothing she liked more than little kids’ crafts. Colouring in big chunky pictures, using glittery scented gel pens, making simple pre-punched sewing kits – they were usually age 5+. They had to have clear instructions, so there were no worries about getting it wrong, and no responsibility to make her own decisions. And she had to be on her own. Then she could get completely lost in creativity and in the stimulus of colours and textures. And of glitter. Lots of glitter.

Abbie had never had opportunity to do this kind of thing. Her home hadn’t been a place where creativity was encouraged, and in school she had felt the shame of her poor motor skills and so destroyed her work, or misbehaved, to get out of making or drawing activities. Even now she couldn’t manage it if I said she’d done something well – there had to be no sense of appraisal. But every picture on her pinboard made my heart swell.

For Abbie, doing something new and creative was key. And the baby steps and no audience and being in control allowed her to get past the barriers, and explore.

Is this more like you?

• Do we find creativity a route into a more relaxed way of being? What about trying something new?

• What are the conditions we need to be able to have a go? What stops us from doing things we think we’d actually quite like?

• Have we given ourselves the chance to grow beyond our previous failures and barriers?

• How can we shift the balance to be a little more childlike, a little more often?

As I reflected on all this last night I realised something else. All of the kids I’ve been thinking about needed to let go in order to act like a child. They all had to put down their attempts to control life, and to manage on their own. In that way they are all the same. But when it comes to their childlikeness, they’re really different.

For Hanh, being childlike meant being immersed in the present moment. It meant enjoying who he was, that he was funny. It meant laughter.

For Harmony, being childlike meant reaching out for help. It meant being vulnerable and honest about how she was feeling. It meant expressing her fear.

For Ella, being childlike meant playing. It meant competing, and doing silly things, and looking ridiculous – for the sake of the game. It meant having fun.

For Abbie, being childlike meant allowing herself to get creative. It meant trying something new. It meant being OK with activities intended for younger children, being OK with not being great at it at first.

Maybe we also need to remember that our childlikeness will be unique to us, just as everything else about us is too. There’s little point trying really hard to be childlike in a way that’s inauthentic to who we actually are. Our own childlikeness will come out naturally when we put down the adult masks. I wonder what we’ll find?

Did anything strike you about the photos?

As I've uploaded them, I've noticed how some of the adults depicted look rather childlike - and some of the children don't! And actually that's really important. Being childlike isn't a function of age - Jesus isn't asking us to be young. Childlikeness is possible at any age.

And childlikeness is possible for anyone. If young people who’ve been through the kinds of abuse that have landed them in the care system can still be childlike – given the right circumstances – then surely so can we all.

Jesus isn’t asking us to do anything that we can't manage. Rather the opposite. All of us have been little children. We've already done it! The child is still in there, somewhere, perhaps very deep down under many many protective layers – but still there. It's not beyond any of us to reconnect with that former self.

And as ever with Jesus’ instructions – as soon as we take one step towards what he asks us to do, we find he’s right alongside, cheering us on, giving us his Spirit, holding our right hand and helping us. Because he came to give us life, and life to the full. And that life is found in living as his child.

Psalm 131

My heart is not proud, Lord,

my eyes are not haughty;

I do not concern myself with great matters

or things too wonderful for me.

But I have calmed and quieted myself,

I am like a weaned child with its mother;

like a weaned child I am content.

Israel, put your hope in the Lord

both now and forevermore