I now have three granddaughters – 2-3/4 years old, and 9 and 7 months.  Having grandkids has certainly changed my life. After years of sitting in  the “guest toy box”, the toys my own kids played with have gotten to come out and have a second run.  I have diapers and changing pads and wipes in a basket under the hearth.  Cabinet latches once again have sprouted in almost every toddler-level cabinet… and upper ones are getting theirs, now that the oldest little monkey is climbing.  Outlets have plugs.  I get to read the old favorite books again….and again…..and again….and….

One of the things I am most enjoying with the oldest one, Beverly, is the opportunity to again enter the world of imagination.  Beverly, like her mother before her, is a precocious child, with verbal skills exceeding that of many 4 year olds, and an imagination to match.  Listening in on her conversations with her toys can leave me choking with laughter.

Yet, sometimes, what she has to say is compellingly profound.

In the raised garden off our back patio, I have a collection of ceramic birds.  They are charicaturish, brightly-colored little things, standing on long stakes.  Their wings and feet are attached to the body with little springs.  All have unnaturally big, funny faces with beaks almost as big as the rest of their bodies.  They make me laugh to see them!  Last summer, Beverly would get up on the wall they patrolled and walk along the cottage stones carefully giving each bird a kiss as she went by.  Well, in January (as those who read my blog know) we had a doozy of a storm.  Snow, ice, wind all combined into one major disaster for our area.  We have 26 fir trees on our property, and each of them dropped copious quantities of branches.  The yards, front and back, were carpeted with them.  When I realized that some of my garden birds had been buried, I rushed out and excavated them from their firry pile.  I stacked them all up together against the house, under the eaves where they would be safe.  And there I forgot about them.

Forgot, that is, until one late spring day when I went out to get that garden ready to put in this summer’s new crop of annuals.  Beverly was with me, happily playing nearby, when she found the pile of birds.  Oh, my!  Gramsie had to put her friends where they belonged without a second to waste.  So, in went the pink one, the turquoise, the green, the blue, the purple, and …. Oh, wait a minute.  Alas, the yellow one had not fared well from his winter encounter.  One wing had its outer half broken clean off, and both legs were missing, leaving only tiny, rusty holes.  A pretty sorry spectacle, compared to his garden-mates.

So, I said to Beverly, “I’m sorry, sweetie, but this one is pretty badly broken.  I think we better put him in the trash instead of in the garden.”  Her eyes filled with tears, and her little chin shook as she clutched the poor, damaged bird to her chest, and she wailed,  “But, Gramsie, he’s still HAPPY!”

And he was!  No matter what damage there had been to other parts of his body, his absurdly big yellow beak still held its funny, friendly grin.  His goofy little eyes still looked as if they knew a great joke they’d love to tell you.  He didn’t care what had happened to the rest of him.  He was still smilin’!

My granddaughter was right on about that bird.  Just because he looks different than the other birds was no reason to consign him to the trash – not while he still has that ludicrous glee on his ceramic face.

It got me to thinking.  Sometimes we’re too quick to consign people to the ‘trash’ category.  Maybe part of them is broken.  Maybe part of them is missing.  Their body may be warped and twisted, and maybe it doesn’t do what bodies are supposed to do.  But these people still have value.  Every person who God has made is prized by Him, and every one He has made has a function that only that person can fulfill, even if we can’t see what that is.  If there’s life, there’s purpose!

Beverly looked beyond the brokenness, seeing only the happy friend who she loved.  We, too, need to look beyond brokenness.  We may not see the smiling face of a friend, but we will certainly see the face of one for whom Christ died – and that should be enough for us.

Unless he gets smashed to bits, I expect that little bird is going to be in my garden for many years.  And he’ll still keep on smiling – and reminding me that “out of the mouth of babes” you sometimes hear profound wisdom!