They scurried past me, a joyful chattering gang of tweens kicking up sand as they headed for the breakers. From where I was sitting, obscured by my enormous hat and sunglasses, I could hear their unpretentious laughter and playful bickering about who was the better paddler. T-shirts and a towel were tossed onto the sand and six pairs of brown feet varying in size carried their owners into the cold surf. One of the boys grabbed hold of the tiny one’s hand, pulling him into the rushing foam and “Tiny” shrieked, “Eeeeeh! Ouch! It’s so cold!” The other one let go momentarily and plunged forward, headfirst into the bubbling wave. Tiny fled from the threatening roller but lost his balance as the force overwhelmed him. The excited mob rushed to where Tiny was sprawled out on the soaking sand and rescued him. I was expecting Tiny to cry in response to the unexpected tumble, but a peal of contagious laughter burst forth from his wriggling body. His fellows cackled in relief and decided that was enough shenanigans. “Mama is going to warm you up good!” prophesied the eldest, followed by, “Hey, no one’s telling!”; “I didn’t drown, relax!”; “Babies should not swim in the ocean!”; “Stop being so bossy.”; “I’m fffrrreeeezzzing!”; “Can I have the towel now?”; “Ugh, I should have come on my own.”; “Cccan wwweee gggo hhhome nnow?”; “Here, take the towel, your teeth are clattering.”; “Such babies!”
My enjoyment of the scene attracted one of the tween’s attention and he turned his back to me shyly whilst pulling his t-shirt over his wet chest. I was disappointed when his exuberance faded because of my presence and shifted my gaze. Their innocent expressions and reactions were magnetic. There is something magical about children’s uninhibited elation. I tried to peer at the boys from the corner of my eye, as the two youngest ones had struck up a conversation about going to church. “It’s gonna be sssuper cool,” expressed the elder one in a loud voice. “We’re gonna dance and sing with the other kids.” Tiny began to sing a song which I instantly recognized. He knows my name; He knows my ev’ry thought. He sees each tear that falls and hears me when I call. The eldest, who had already started walking back to the road, called out to the younger two, “Come on, I don’t have all day!”, and they headed toward the rest of the mob reluctantly. Tiny continued singing and as he passed me by, he paused, lifted his chubby arm, and waved at me, “Baai, Tannie!” (Good-bye, Aunty). I waved back, perplexed at the moisture dripping from my eyes. Something deep inside me responded when the little boy sang about God knowing his name. My spirit leapt up through my grown-up soul and I mouthed the words of the song.
Later that week I went to church to have a look at how our Bible Holiday Club was progressing. Children from the community and other churches gathered at my local church to enjoy playing games, hear Bible stories, and do crafts, during which they were introduced to the Gospel message. I have always found worshipping children to be most encouraging, as it reminds me of God’s call for us to be like little children (Matthew 18:1–5). God values children and I can only imagine how the innocent, sincere worship of children moves his heart. The church hall was filled with children from different parts of the local community, seemingly not noticing their differences. They stood side by side, holding hands as the program was concluded by prayer. I recognized Tiny and the older boy as they stood beaming, and my heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t tear my gaze away this time. It was obvious that these two precious children were from the poorest part of the community, struggling with issues that most other children will never encounter during their childhood. The smile on the tweens’ faces never betrayed their hardship. Music began to play, and they joined in song with the other children, their facial expressions resembling what I could only imagine as being heavenly glory. In the presence of the Lord, all divisions disappear regardless of who we are. The boys worshipped God from the margins, but to God it was worship in spirit and truth. That kind of worship glorifies him.
The unpretentious worship of children usually tears me up not only because it’s beautiful, but because it ignites a deep longing in me as an adult to worship without restraint; to return to a time when I was child who expressed uncalculated, effortless adoration to God during worship. Whilst the young ones were worshipping, I looked around at the adults in the room. Most of them were singing along, but some of them seemed to be preoccupied in their thoughts. Yet there was one old lady who bounced up and down, her hands raised, and her face beaming. I could not help but stare. She expressed her worship without being concerned about what the rest of us might think of her. Perhaps it was only my own conviction at play, but the old lady inspired me. Was that not a perfect example of what it means to become like a child (Matthew 18:3–5)?
During worship these days, I frequently examine my heart and make a conscious effort to put my burdens and concerns aside. I cannot be a child again, but I can learn to worship like a child, without allowing my own issues to become a distraction that prevents me from worshipping in spirit and truth. May the words of this song rekindle the childlike wonder inside of us as we remember that we are God’s children, regardless of age:
I have a Maker, he formed my heart. Before even time began, my life was in his hands.
He knows my name. He knows my ev’ry thought. He sees each tear that falls. And hears me when I call.
I have a Father, he calls me his own. He’ll never leave me, no matter where I go.
He knows my name. He knows my ev’ry thought. He sees each tear that falls. And hears me when I call.
(Song by Tommy Walker)
I think this word has racialised connotations. Rather use a more neutral term like ‘tweens’.
See earlier comment. The term is used many times in this blog, so take care to remove it altogether.
Using racialised language is risky. Here in South Africa ‘coloured’ refers to someone who is mixed-race. In the USA it is a racially charged term meaning ‘anything other than white’.
I think it is an adjective that can just be left out, here.
