13 One day some parents brought their children to Jesus so he could touch them and bless them, but the disciples told them not to bother him. 14 But when Jesus saw what was happening, he was very displeased with his disciples. He said to them, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these. 15 I assure you, anyone who doesn’t have their kind of faith will never get into the Kingdom of God.” 16 Then he took the children into his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them. (Mark 10:13-16 NLT)
When I was a little boy everyone called me Jimmy. I thought Jimmy was a little kid’s name and when I reached my teens I demanded to be called Jim. That was about the time I stopped calling my Father “Daddy” and started calling him “Dad.”
About ten days ago my Dad’s sister Edna, the last surviving member of that generation in the Stephens family, died. We had lost contact with Aunt Edna years ago after Uncle Clarence died, and didn’t know where she lived. Letters we sent came back.
Then just a week and a half ago my cousin Georgia, Aunt Edna’s youngest daughter, called us from Texas and told us about Edna’s death. I haven’t seen Georgia since my early teens, fifty years ago. Georgia kept calling me Jimmy on the phone and at first I wanted to tell her that my name, my grownup name, is Jim. But I didn’t make a big deal of it as we talked again several times in the next few days. It was kind of nice to be Jimmy again.
This morning, after I read the verses above from Mark 10:13-16, I felt as if Father God said to me, “Do you mind if I call you Jimmy?” And my heart replied, “That’d be great! Can I call you Daddy?” He said, “Sure.”