A few weeks ago as I walked a school corridor on my way to a training session, I came upon a little boy and his teacher making their way slowly down the hall. He was perhaps four or five years old, thin and small, and his little hands gripped the aluminum walker in front of him. Glasses were perched on his nose, and his smile, against chocolaty brown skin, was bright and cheerful. His twisted legs moved no more than an inch or two at a time as he pushed his way forward, yet he and his teacher talked and laughed as though they were striding through a meadow.
I was still several steps away when the little fellow dropped to his knees and began to crawl. His progress was no more rapid than before, but he kept going in the same direction. I wondered where they were headed, as I saw no obvious goal ahead. Maybe just to the next doorway. I don’t know. I slowed when I approached them, pausing to say hello and exchange pleasantries with the teacher. As we stood there chatting, this little guy – still forging ahead – looked up with the most infectious smile and joyfully declared: “Almost there! I’m almost there!”
Dear God, what do you do with that kind of courage? When I am tempted to give up, God, please let me see his face.