A Small Child Shall Lead Them

A Small Child Shall Lead Them
By Marilyn Mackenzie


A friend once told me how her small son changed the way she prayed, how she worshipped, even how she thought about God. For years, I’ve been meaning to write the story down.



Cheryl and David had both been raised in churches where the worship services were always scripted. They attended churches where the Holy Spirit was never given full rein to lead or participate in the service. Hymns were always sung, and never praise choruses.

The couple was quite comfortable in worshipping this way. When they married, they sought churches like those in which they were raised. There were a few denominations where they knew the services would be formal and never last more than an hour. Those were the churches they sought. Whichever of these denominations was closest to their home was the one they would attend.

Their only son, Jonathan, had only known the teachings and worship services of these Christian churches. He’d never attended a service where worshippers raised their hands or clapped. He’d never even seen such things on Christian cable TV shows.

The prayers Jonathan learned to pray before each meal, and those he recited each night before going to bed, were always the same. At mealtime, Jonathan learned to pray, "Thank you for the food we eat...." As he knelt at his bedside, Jonathan always prayed, "Now I lay me down to sleep..."

One night, Jonathan was quite ill. His temperature continued to rise, and his parents couldn’t seem to get it down. Cheryl spoke with the pediatrician by phone and recalled each of the things she and David had done for their child to help reduce his temperature. They had given him over-the-counter medications. They had bathed him in lukewarm water. They had wiped his brow and his wrists with a cold cloth. The doctor instructed them to continue their efforts, then admonished them to take Jonathan to the emergency room if his temperature increased.

As Cheryl tucked Jonathan back into his bed, he suggested that they should ask Jesus to heal him. It was the only thing they hadn’t done together, although Cheryl had offered many silent prayers as she sat with her son.

She knelt beside her son’s bed, bowed her head, closed her eyes and began to pray. As she did, Cheryl realized that the bed was moving. She wondered at the stirring, since Jonathan had been so weak that he’d hardly been moving for the past hour.

As she slowly opened her eyes, Cheryl was surprised to see her son standing in the middle of his bed with his arms reaching skyward. She strained to hear his whisperings and realized that he was whispering, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus..." Over and over again, Jonathan whispered the name. His small form reached upwards, and there was a smile on his face that reached from ear to ear.

As he settled back under the covers, the smile still appeared weakly on his small face. He assured his mother that Jesus would make him better and fell quickly to sleep. Cheryl watched as her son’s breathing became more regular, more normal. She placed her hand upon his forehead and realized that the fever was gone. Cheryl slowly left her son’s room, whispering, "thank you, Jesus" as she entered her own room.

The next morning, it was as if Jonathan had never been sick at all. He was back to the active, happy, three-year-old he had been the day before. His strength had returned, as had the rosy color in his cheeks, the color of an active child, and not the color of a feverish one.

Cheryl sat beside her son, feeling his forehead to reassure herself that he was indeed no longer sick, that his temperature was gone.

She asked, nonchalantly, "Where did you learn to pray standing like that? I’ve never seen you pray standing up with your arms raised."

Jonathan looked at his mother, quizzically. Seeing that she seemed to expect an answer, he told his mom about the story he’d heard just the Sunday before at Sunday school. He said, "Mom, my teacher told me about a woman who was healed. She had faith and was healed. She knew if she touched the hem of Jesus’ garment that Jesus would heal her."

Cheryl chuckled to herself, thinking that Jonathan couldn’t possibly know what the words he’d just shared really meant. She questioned him, and discovered that he had asked his teacher what the words "hem" and "garment" meant. He explained in the words of a three-year-old that Jesus wore what looked like a dress. That was his garment. And he explained that "hem" was the bottom of Jesus’ "dress."

Pressing him for more information, Cheryl asked how Jonathan knew to raise his hands skyward.

Patiently, Jonathan explained, "Jesus lives in Heaven with God, somewhere in the sky."

He looked up and smiled as he spoke. He explained, "I was reaching for the hem of Jesus’ garment. I knew if I could just touch His clothes, that I could be healed just like the lady in the Bible."

Cheryl shook her head as she left her son’s room. She was always surprised at the simplicity of her son’s explanation about the things around him. Still, she talked with her husband about Jonathan’s prayer and the resulting, immediate, it seemed, healing he received. Her son’s simple belief that Jesus would heal him, and the way he whispered "Jesus" were thoughts that bounced around her head for days.

The next Sunday, this young family attended a different church. The parents walked cautiously into a church where worshippers regularly shouted, "Amen" and where they raised their hands. They listened to praise music and Scripture choruses and watched as the congregation members clapped their hands. Some had tears of joy running down their cheeks.

Cheryl and David weren’t sure that they’d be comfortable in a church so different than the ones they usually attended. But as they looked down upon their small son, they realized how comfortable he felt in this environment, and they vowed to stay and learn more. They wanted their son to have a relationship with Jesus, the one who healed him.

Jonathan looked at his parents with bright, twinkling eyes. "Jesus is in the house!" he said, assuring them. And they realized that Jonathan was right. Jesus was, indeed, in the house.