April 21, 2011

A Little Child Shall Lead Them - Sulo Moorthy

This morning, I was reading the Classic Writings of Billy Graham, where Mr.Graham had tried to explain, that despite how sincere we may be in our desire to serve Christ, that does not make us perfect nor fault-free. To simplify his point, he chose a letter written by a five-year-old to her dad, a Scottish preacher, who was away in New Zealand on a mission tour.

'Dear father, I wrote all this myself. I send you a kiss from Elsie.' the child wrote. The father did see the crooked strokes, his child's struggle to print large capitals, and the absence of a single properly formed letter. Yet, that didn't annoy him nor make him blame the child for her poor writing. Instead, he chose to treasure the letter like an art piece. He knew for sure it was the best his darling five-year-old could do to convey her love to him.  She had put her whole heart into the letter, sealed it with a kiss and sent it to him from far away. How could anything be more precious to him than that ?

As I was reading the story, my thoughts reeled back to the time when I wrote somewhat a similar letter to my father, whom I lovingly called Papa.  I would have probably been around the same age as the little girl in the story. That summer, my mother, two older sisters and I were holidaying at our aunt's house in the hilly countryside, skirted by cocoa and pepper plantations. Because of work, my father couldn't accompany us on this trip and that made me, the youngest of five, to miss him the most.

Whenever the postman brought my father's letters, I awaited eagerly on my mother's lap to hear her read the part where my father had inquired about me.  I made sure that in return, I would draw a picture or scribble something on a piece of paper and sent it along when my mom posted her letter to my father. Then, one day, I was playing in the backyard with my cousin, when my mother came and handed me an envelope addressed to me. A letter for me? I couldn't believe my eyes.  My chubby cheeks beamed when I saw the handwriting of my dear father on the envelope. The fact that he had written especially to me made me squeal and run around the house, showing the letter to everyone.

Today, I cannot recall what my father had written in that letter, but I do remember carrying the letter all day long in my frock pocket (yes, we did have cute pockets in our dresses) and reading it again and again.  In a day or two, I could easily recite the entire letter by heart. It became a pastime for my sisters and cousins to call upon me to recite the letter in front of others. Shy, I might have been by nature, but when it came to reciting my father's letter, I didn't shy away at all. My curly hair pinned up in two colorful barrettes, I stood there with my chin up and my eyes gleaming, and recited my father's letter for my onlookers amusement.

I wish I could say that I read my Heavenly Father's letter (God's Word) too with the same fervor and devotion. Maybe at times. But mostly, I do it because I ought to, rather than I love to. Life somehow interrupts and dampens the passion I long to have. But, that doesn't make my Heavenly Father to love me less nor restricts His grace towards me.  However, it's my sincere desire that I will regain my childlike trust and devotion, and make His Word alive in me for His delight


  1. I so enjoyed reading your posting, Sulo!

    I could well imagine you as a little girl all excited about your father's letter.

    It's my longing as well to love our Heavenly Father with that same abandoned love and delight.

  2. I can really identify with your last paragraph. I know that I am guilty of reading my Bible because I think as a Christian that's the right thing to do instead of reading it because I want to get closer to my Heavenly Father.

    Thank you for challenging me.

  3. We are all guilty of not having the passion we long to have towards God. Hope we'll strive to move towards it in the coming days.

  4. You chose such a pertinent example to show our relationship with the Father. I love this story!
    Pam M.


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