"Look! It lights up!"

Except ye become as little children...

I found a picture the other day.

Slightly faded and framed in wood, a small child dressed in a ruffled nightgown reaches out to touch the lights on a Christmas tree. Looking closely, I can make out snow on the trees outside the window and berries on the bushes.

The picture, according to my mother, is of me – taken Christmas time 1991; though, how she can tell the difference between my sister and me at such a young age remains a mystery. Since I was nigh impossible to pose, my grandfather must have caught me at exactly the right moment, reaching for something that, to a small child, seemed beyond understanding: a tree that lights up.

I look after children this age and older every week, and every week I watch as they discover something new.

Allow me to introduce you to three year old James- a little hellion; he always manages, somehow, to find his way into something newly exciting and most likely destructive. “James! The windows are not for climbing. And how on EARTH did these scribbles end up on the newly painted white walls? I'll just strategically place this chair right. here. No one will ever have to know..." Nonetheless, his sly little grin never ceases to make me smile. 

When I first met Will, he had yet to learn how to crawl. Instead, he would throw his pudgy little body face first into the floor and wiggle there, hoping, I'm sure, to make it to the more interesting side of the room. Now a handsome two year old, I marvel as he toddles as fast as his legs will take him to that other side to grab the toy school bus. He then runs back to me, and, holding up his prize, proudly proclaims, "Yellow bus!"

Andrew and his brother, Alex, never stop wondering. Before Andrew could talk I would pick him up and let him touch the sides of the indoor tree house that was too high for him to reach. His small hands would run over the smooth wood and grab hold to test the sturdiness. I could see the wonder on his face as he familiarized himself with a part of the world that had always seemed too high to reach.

Alex started reading at a very early age. How a five year old can learn the scientific names of every dinosaur and still have time to play Jedi knights with me I will never know.

Vincent is nine. I cannot describe to you the beauty that hides behind the eyes of this kid. He's smart, funny, caring, and occasionally obnoxious. He eats up Scholastic News for Kids like I've given him some kind of Hook-like feast of the ten-year-old gods. His occasional bursts of "I-don't-like-you-anymore” can’t compare to the moments when he yells "Katie!" and runs over to topple me sideways with a hug. Every time he learns something new – I mean really learns – I can literally watch the knowledge fill his eyes and travel throughout his face. "They found how many fossils? Woah, that's a lot!"

Sebastian, Maddie (x2) and Jackie, Harley, Brentson, Tommy, Marco, Samuel, Hannah, and Logan. So much learning, so many stories to tell, so many stories yet to be written.

Simplicity is the truest form of expression. Children reach without hesitation, they move forward without asking permission of themselves, and they leap without fear of falling. Their wonderment knows no social norms and they live in a constant state of adventure that only newness can provide. I want that. And I want that for you. Childhood, in its most important sense, is a constant state of newness. Awe keeps us alive and young well into old age. Lately, for many reasons, I have felt like that child looking up at a world that is sometimes too high for me to reach. However, my shortness ("You're not short! You're feet touch the ground. Heh." – Dad) doesn't frustrate me, nor does the height of the world scare me. Instead, it makes me feel alive. Rather than feeling overwhelmed, I look at the world like it holds all of the adventures God placed in our hands.

So. Maybe next time you see a Christmas tree, take a moment to smile and say, "Hey look! It lights up!"