“And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them” – Matthew 18:2

It seems as though little children are becoming a them in my life… admittedly, I have held someone else’s child every day for the past couple of days and not many people would proclaim that with the utmost pride. (Admittedly, I flat out asked if I could hold someone’s six-month-old… Fingers are always crossed that I don’t sound psycho.) There is just something in my heart that holds fast to an infant, and I never can shake whatever that feeling is.

This morning in church, I was listening intently to the message being given to me- a wonderful talk about trust, something I have ironically been dwelling on for some time now. I regretted not having a notebook to write down thoughts I could mull over later because what was said was truly moving. As I tried to concentrate on the highlights I most wanted to remember, my heart stirred.

There was a baby beneath my pew.

No, I thought. There’s no way there is a baby under my pew.

I tried to turn my focus again to the message; I knew looking under my pew would appear strange and be distracting.

So it wasn’t until I heard the soft, grunting exhales of the crawling infant and felt his hand on my foot that I let myself believe it. Lo and behold… he was there (Insert accusation that I am a baby magnet here. It’s okay, I’m proud of it.). He had crawled across the aisle and apparently wanted to meet a new friend today. Immediately, I swooped down to rescue the Olympic crawler who had presently taken an interest in attempting to taste the carpet. His mother nodded and smiled for me to just hold him, if I wanted.

Boy, did I!

The little squirt, with his big sparkly blue eyes and Cheshire grin, gazed up at me from his perch atop my lap.

In the midst of yet another church meeting, I realized a second important lesson even the teeniest of kiddos can teach us. That tiny boy trusted that he would be taken care of, wherever he crawled and in whomever’s lap he ended up. He didn’t fear stepping, or slithering, out in faith to get where he wanted to go. He simply trusted.

I had felt impressed not too long ago that my word for this season of life was “trust”- so much so that I ordered a key necklace with the word engraved on it as a subtle and tactile reminder. Now, when I wear the necklace, I will probably think of that sweet baby I was sure was not underneath my pew. I should have trusted the prompting that he was. In other areas of my life, I should trust that I can choose to do the right thing, trust that I am not choosing on my own but have ever-present Help when I but ask.

Moral of my Sunday church story: Trust in your Savior, even if that means carrying the physical word around with you like I have to do in order to remember. Trust that you can make the hard choices in the midst of chaos and be okay, even blessed, in the end. And if you ever feel a prompting that there is a baby under your pew… trust it… and check!!! ;)