Too Small to Be Chosen

"The word of the Lord came to me, saying, 'Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.' 'Alas, Sovereign Lord,' I said, 'I do not know how to speak; I am too young.' But the Lord said to me, 'Do not say, "I am too young." You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you,' declares the Lord." (Jeremiah 1:4-8, NIV)

The picture that burns

It's three in the morning and you have a fever. One hundred and four degrees, your little body burning like a tiny volcano. I hold you against my chest while daddy calls the pediatrician, and I feel your heart beating fast, fast, like a frightened little bird.

I'm holding the second picture from the album. You at three years old, standing in front of the preschool gate. Backpack with a teddy bear too big for your shoulders, little hand reaching for mine, bottom lip trembling. It's your first day without mama. You don't know anyone. You're the smallest one there.

"Do you see this moment, little one?" I whisper while changing the cool cloth on your forehead. "In two years, you'll feel like you're too small to face what's waiting for you."

But it's not true.

The picture comes alive before my fevered eyes. I see you hiding behind my legs at the preschool gate, that teddy bear backpack weighing on you like a boulder, the other children running confidently toward their games while you stay glued to my skirt, with that terrible feeling of being the only child in the world who doesn't want to leave his mama.

You feel too small. Too needy. Too scared. Too much of everything you wish you weren't.

And I won't be able to stay with you beyond that colorful door, little one. I won't be able to sit beside you when the teacher reads a story and you want my arms instead of the plastic chair. I won't be able to dry your tears when you cry because you don't know how to use scissors like Matthew or because your block tower always falls down.

But Someone will be there.

Someone who once looked at a boy even younger than you - his name was Jeremiah - and said to him: "I need you."

And Jeremiah, just like you'll do in front of that preschool, answered: "But I'm too young! I don't know how to speak! I don't know how to do anything important!"

Do you know what God answered him?

"Do not say 'I am too young.' I am with you." (Jeremiah 1:7-8, NIV)

Not "wait until you grow up". Not "come back when you're bigger". "I am with you. Right now. Just as you are."

Because you see, sweet boy, God doesn't choose people because they're big enough. He chooses them because He knows how big they can become with Him by their side.

That day, in front of the new preschool, you'll feel like you're the only child in the world who's afraid to be without mama. You'll think that everyone else was born knowing how to play together, how not to cry when they miss home, how to be big.

But it's not true.

Even Emma, the one with blonde pigtails who will become your best friend, that morning will have hidden her stuffed animal in her backpack because she's also afraid of sleeping alone during nap time. Even Luke, the one who seems so confident with Legos, will be wondering if his mama will remember to come pick him up.

Even teacher Anna, you know? Will wake up thinking: "What if I can't make all these little ones feel safe when they're entrusted to me?"

Because being small isn't a matter of age, little one. It's a matter of feeling alone in front of something bigger than us.

And in that moment, when you feel like you're too small for everything, remember Jeremiah. Remember that God chose him precisely because he was young, not despite being young.

Because small hearts still know how to trust. Small hearts still know how to believe that love doesn't disappear even when they can't see it.

That day at the new preschool, when you feel like you're the only one who doesn't want to leave mama, close your eyes for a second. Feel your heart beating. That same heart that's beating now while you have a fever and I hold you tight.

And remember: "I am with you." (Jeremiah 1:8, NIV)

Not just me, your mama, who will watch you go in with a heart broken by pride. But the One who chose you before you were even born. The One who looked at you when you were just a dream in my eyes and said: "This child will do wonderful things."

Not because you're big. Because you're small enough to let His greatness fill you completely.

And do you know what will happen that day, little one? Emma will come up to you during snack time because she'll see that you also brought star-shaped cookies that she loves so much. Luke will ask if you want to build a tower together because he'll understand that you, like him, like to do things slowly, carefully.

And teacher Anna will ask you to tell a story not because you have to prove something, but because she'll sense that you have a beautiful imagination. An imagination that knows how to invent worlds where everyone loves each other.

Just like Jeremiah, who thought he couldn't speak and instead became the voice that comforted an entire people.

Too small? No, sweet boy. Perfect for what God had in mind.

The fever is going down. Your breathing is becoming calmer. Soon dawn will paint the world in normal colors again and this night will seem like just a memory.

But what I've whispered to you tonight won't. That will stay forever, tattooed on your heart: "I am with you" even when you feel too small, especially when you feel too small.

Sleep, little prophet.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about that time when you'll be seven years old and have to find the courage you don't know you have.

--Mama who knows that God chooses the small to do big things