He had, I’d noted, been asking questions the day of and the day before. “What is disobedience?” was one, and the door had opened yet again for Mother to explain about obedience and listening and what the Lord requires.
Sitting there that morning, my own heart burdened, yet soft, pliable, listening to His voice, the questions came again. And then I saw what he was asking.
Little Schrock, my five-year-old son with eyes of blue just like his daddy’s, was ready to take the step, to pray the prayer that would change his course for time and eternity.
“Are you wanting to ask Jesus into your heart?” I’d queried. Nodding, earnest, his head had bobbed, eyes shining clear and true. “Then say it after me.”
“You want me to repeat it?” he’d asked, wanting to be sure. And bowing his head, folding his hands, eyes squeezed tight, he’d followed Mama in the sinner’s prayer, and she led her lamb to Jesus.
I noted, when he lifted his face from prayer, that he was pink, flushed, as if he, too, felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. His countenance shown, radiating peace, and I knew that he had been with Jesus.
Full of questions, he asked me, then, about Heaven, wanting to know, if he died, what I would do when I got to Heaven and saw him. And what, he wondered aloud, would God do when he arrived?
“I would jump and shout!” I said, meaning it. “And God? He will say, ‘Welcome, Gabriel! Come on in. Because you let Me come in to your heart, I’m letting you come in to My house.”
There’s no doubt in my mind that Little knew what he was doing. He prays now, “I’m Your new best friend. I will obey.” And just yesterday, he sat down and rendered the trinity with a grateful and fervent love. In green Crayola. That’s Jesus on the left, God in the middle, and the Holy Spirit on the right. And God, you’ll see, has muscles.