It’s a humbling thing to be schooled by your child

You’re thinking: “Well, we all learn from our kids. Patience. Compassion. Consistency. Mercy. We grow and change as we learn from our parenting mistakes.”

You’re right, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

There were days I could not make myself want to get out of bed, much less leave the house. On the mission field, that shouldn’t happen.

But it did. For a season, my heart was so broken that I lacked the strength to see others. Of course, ministry did not stop for me. I carried on, lacking motivation. Trudging.

Mommying didn’t stop either. It was the one thing that cheered my heart. So, when my six-year-old Giant was afraid to introduce himself to a new friend of ours, I knelt to ask what bothered him so much.

“The way he looks. He’s scary, Mama.”

Our weathered, leathered, and inked friend was a recovering drug addict. Giant and I stepped outside to share a pack of M & Ms in the fresh air. Boyfriend-Who-Is-My-Husband continued conversing with The Biker.

“What flavor are all these candies?” I dumped a few M & Ms into Giant’s tiny hand.

They were in his mouth inside of two seconds. “Chocolate.” He licked his lips and smiled.

“Wait. You mean the yellow one isn’t lemon? And the green one isn’t lime?”

“They’re not Skittles, Mom. Doesn’t matter what the outside looks like.”

So I explained that people are a lot like M &Ms, even though we expect them to be like Skittles. Everyone is the same on the inside. No one is better than anyone else, no matter what we look like. We’re all sinners. We’re all human. We all need relationships and love. Some of us—the ones who belong to Jesus—are like peanut M & Ms. (I know. It’s oversimplified and a bit silly, but bear with me.) We’re the same except that the Holy Spirit has become a part of our lives and changed us.

The Biker, I explained, was a peanut M & M, no matter what he looked like. A brother in Christ.

I could see the moment realization dawned. And then Giant ran back inside. He chatted happily with all of us for the rest of the afternoon. He even gave The Biker a bone-crushing hug before we left.

Satisfied that I’d done a fabulous job of creating an Aha! moment for my little one, I moved on.

But Giant didn’t. Every day after that—for a few weeks—Giant saw each person we passed on the street with fresh eyes. “Is he a peanut or a regular? Is that person my brother in Christ? Does that grandma know Jesus?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. No. No. I don’t think so. I’ve never asked her.” Every time I answered, my heart dried up a little more. We were being totally ineffective missionaries. Why did we even stay?

I wasn’t prepared for what he asked when we got home. “What about Aunt Marta*? She’s got to be a sister in Christ. I don’t know anyone who’s better than she is.”

Well, I had asked Aunt Marta. She was my best friend in the entire country. And she had thanked me for my heart for people. She was impressed with how much we were willing to sacrifice for others. She understood why we’d come and what we were trying to do in her city. She cherished our family’s friendship. And here’s the kicker: She recognized that she needed a Savior. But she didn’t want One yet.

I sat down on the bed, and looked straight into Giant’s hopeful eyes. “What I’m going to tell you is hard to understand, and it will hurt to hear, but it’s true. There are millions of wonderful people who will end up in Hell. God doesn’t want anybody to go there, and He made a way for people to join Him in heaven, but most people in the world don’t understand that making Jesus their Lord is the only way. Nothing else will work. If it would, He would never have sent His only Son to die.”

Giant blinked. “Mom? What do you mean? What about Aunt Marta? You can’t mean she’s going to Hell.”

“Without asking Jesus to forgive her and be her Lord, she can’t go to heaven. No matter how good she is.”

Giant deflated next to me. Silent. Little brow furrowed in thought.

And then he jumped off the bed and gripped both my hands in his, with every ounce of strength in his body. “Mom! Now I understand why we’re here! We have to tell them! We have to make sure every single person knows!”

I sat. Stunned.

Desperate, he shook me. “Come on!”

I came undone. BWIMH whisked Giant and Bean out for a walk, and they prayed for every person they passed, while I fell flat on my face and begged God to forgive me for lacking the passion my six-year-old had.

Sometimes, we get so submerged in our own suffering, that we forget the very reason we exist. Why are you where you are? Why do you work where you do?

Are the people around you on a day to day basis peanut M & Ms or regular?

And what would God have you do about it?

*name changed to protect privacy