When Everyone Sees a Giant

The picture that scares

Tonight you cried in your sleep. A cry that broke my heart because it wasn't from physical pain. It was from something deeper. From that fear children have when the world suddenly seems too big, too mean, too strong.

I'm holding the third picture from the album. You at seven years old, in the school courtyard. You're alone. Completely alone. In front of you stands Marcus - not Emma from preschool, a different Marcus, bigger, meaner - blocking your path to the entrance. His friends are laughing. You're not.

"Do you see this moment, little one?" I whisper while wiping away the tears that fall even while you sleep. "This is the day you'll discover what it means to be small in front of a giant."

And you'll discover that being small doesn't mean being lost.

The picture comes alive and I relive every mother's nightmare. I see you coming home with your shirt torn, your backpack empty because Marcus threw your notebooks in the mud, your red eyes trying not to meet mine.

"How was school?" I'll ask like every day.

"Fine, mama," you'll lie, because at seven you think protecting mama from pain means carrying it all on your shoulders.

But I'll know. I'll know from the way you don't eat dinner. From the way you suddenly don't want to go to school anymore. From the way you scream names in your sleep that I don't recognize.

And when finally, after days of silence, your walls come crashing down and you tell me everything - about Marcus pushing you, stealing your lunch, calling you stupid, making you feel like you're the only child in the world without the right to exist - I'll take you in my arms and tell you about David.

David who was your age when he looked at Goliath.

Goliath was nine feet tall. He wore armor that weighed as much as three children like you. His voice made the earth tremble and the bravest soldiers ran just hearing him roar.

Everyone saw an invincible monster.

David saw something different. He saw someone who was insulting his God. And this made him more angry than scared.

"I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty," (1 Samuel 17:45, NIV) said this seven-year-old boy to this nine-foot monster.

Not "I hope I can do it". Not "I'll try to be brave".

"I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty."

And he did it. With a sling and five smooth stones from the river. A child against a giant. Faith against fear.

Guess who won.

Little one, Marcus will seem like Goliath to you. He'll seem stronger, bigger, meaner than anything you can face. You'll feel like you're the only child in the world who doesn't know how to defend himself.

But it's not true.

Because you're not alone in front of your Goliath. You go "in the name of the Lord Almighty." You carry with you the same God who gave strength to David. The same God who transforms scared children into brave lions.

I'm not telling you to fight, sweet boy. I'm telling you not to be afraid of being small. Because when you're small, God has more room to be big.

That day, when Marcus blocks your path, when you feel like you're alone against the world, remember: "I am with you" (Jeremiah 1:8, NIV) isn't just a sweet phrase. It's a declaration of war against everything that wants to make you feel small, stupid, wrong.

"I am with you" means that the God of the universe has chosen your side. That the Almighty is in your corner. That the One who created the stars thinks you're worth defending.

And when you finally find the courage to look Marcus in the eyes and tell him with a firm voice, "leave me alone", it won't be your voice you hear. It will be the echo of David's: "I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty."

It won't be you speaking. It will be Him through you.

And Marcus, like all bullies in the world, will back down. Because giants are only strong as long as no one really looks them in the eyes. When someone does - especially a child who knows he's not alone - giants suddenly become very, very small.

Do you know what will happen after that, little one? Marcus will stop bothering you. Not by magic, but because he'll understand that inside you there's something he doesn't have: the certainty of being loved by someone bigger than any fear.

And you, you'll discover something incredible: that courage isn't not being afraid. Courage is being afraid but going forward anyway because you know that "I am with you" is stronger than any "you'll never make it".

The picture blurs as your tears in sleep dry up. Your breathing becomes calmer. It's as if, even sleeping, you heard that someone promised never to leave you alone in front of your giants.

Sleep, little David.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about that time when you'll be eleven years old and have to learn that even when everything seems to go wrong, there's always a hand weaving your story.

--Mama who knows that God transforms children into lions