Today I Don't Hate Children

The choir was chanting an unfamiliar song, to which I wasn't paying much attention, as always, when I finished my prayer.  I opened my eyes, and right then I caught a glimpse of something wonderful - the priest, one of the most saintly and ethereal priest I know, lit up at the sight of a tiny person.  He smiled like any common man would, looking adoringly at such innocence, and gently shaking the boy's thin, marshmallow arms.

Then he carried on to bless the children, and I sit back on the bench.  The brief, beautiful moment filled me with a feeling that haven't visited my for years.  More of a memory, it was related to content, kindness, holiness, and a simpler attitude towards life. 

My mother used to say to me, quite often it seemed, as I had a very young brain and fresh memory at the time, that "children are God's favorite."  "Why?" I would ask, I would always ask.  "Because children are innocent and unstained."  And I would feel so happy and special.  Children are God's favorite.  That was me.  I was God's favorite.  He loved me dearly, and I deserved every bit of it.

For many years I was that tiny person.  I was a child; albeit precocious, I felt like a child.  I knew I was one of those blessed bunch that God treasured and guardian angels looked over, I never had a particularly stable childhood, but this I knew, and now and then would fill me with joy.

When did I stop being a child?  It must have been at least ten thousand years, the feelings are lost on me.  The girl/women I know is complicated and murky, she muddled through much of life and spoiled even more.  I try not to lie, yet most days can't really distinguish the truth to tell.  I step into and out of the church silent in emptiness.  I can only experience feelings of fondness or agitation or excitement after the circumstances have been carefully considered and approved.  I can't recognize simplicity anymore.  

Look at that wide-eyed, delicate tiny person, doodling.  God loves him now.