Broken

Saturday night as we were leaving church Riley spotted one of those “to go” communion cups and grabbed it. “Can I have this?” she asked me. I shook my head no and motioned for her to put it back in the holder so we could scoot on out of the building. “Why not? I want one,” she insisted.

Although we had explained communion to her and she has been a Christian for a year, I still wasn’t sure if she completely grasped it. I nodded my head and told her she could take it with her and do it at home, fully expecting it to be forgotten as soon as something else caught her attention. I mean, really, she is a very young, immature Christian, right? Of course I want her to be introduced to these things, but I don’t expect a deep understanding too soon.

Shame on me.

The first thing she said when we got home is “Can I do this now?” So she and I went up to the quiet of her room and I led her through communion and reminded her what it was all about. I prayed with her, then told her I would leave her alone to pray if she wanted.

Some time later she walked into the family room in tears. She collapsed on my lap and buried her face on me. For a long time, I couldn’t figure out what in the world was going on. Then I found out.

She was completely overwhelmed that He died for her. That he went through all of that. For her. She was heartbroken. She was thankful. She was completely humbled.

But not as humbled as her mommy. When was the last time I responded that way to communion? How long had it been since I was completely heartbroken and overwhelmed and moved in the way that he intended for us to be when taking communion? You don’t want to know.

As I held this broken 7 year old on my lap and talked with her, I experienced communion in a way I hadn’t in a very long time. And I thanked God for sending me these children, who somehow continue to teach me way more than I can ever dream of teaching them.