Beech Tree News Network

I got the opportunity to help with the two-year-olds at VBS last week.  It was wonderful!  I took my granddaughter, who cried every night as we left the church, because she didn’t want to go home.
    There were songs and crafts and snacks and spills and laughter and tears.  All of the things you come to expect at any VBS.  Shawn, the sheep, was there.  He sprang to life from Ms. Gail’s hand bag to give the children high-fives, teach them Bible verses and lead them in songs.
    “Is he real?” a little girl asked.
    “What do you think?” I said.  She shook her head, no.  (Can’t get anything past a two-year-old.)
    Moses was there, along with Jesus, the Ten Commandments, an angel, an empty tomb, a large rock and a burning bush.  They were all glued to construction paper then colored pink, purple or blue—the preferred colors of two-year-olds. 
    A lesser known patriarch also made an appearance: “Who did we learn about last night?” Ms. Gail asked the children, “Remember?  God promised him that he would be the father of many children.”
There was a brief hesitation before a little girl called out with enthusiasm, “Rainbow Ham!”
    “Abraham.  That’s right,” Ms. Gail said, without missing a beat.
    They ate fruit and chips and turkey on tablecloths spread upon the floor.  They turned over their milk, spilled raisins and stepped on each other’s sandwiches.  Hands, holding paper towels and wipes and love, cleaned their little faces. 
    Outside, they joined up with four-year-olds and chased bubbles and hid among the small pines that edged the church property.  They drew stars and rainbows on the sidewalk and pavement with sidewalk chalk. 
    “See this line?” a helper called out, pointing to a bold red line drawn on the asphalt, “Don’t go past this line.”  A small boy stood behind her as she addressed the group of children.  He dropped to the pavement and drew his own line—six inches beyond her line.  Even at four years of age, we are drawing our own lines in the sand, I thought.  No wonder we have such a time of it on this earth.
    The final night arrived way too quickly.  Dress rehearsal was over.  It was time to sing the songs that thousands of children before these had sung before generations of other parents in church auditoriums throughout the ages.
    They sang, as only little children can, at the top of their lungs without hesitation or embarrassment.  They stamped their feet and used their hands to form the motions that accompanied each song, their faces awash with beams from a spotlight at the back of the room, their hearts with a beam not visible to the eye.
    These were our children, God’s children, the children of Rainbow Ham, lest we ever forget.