The gospel of Matthew records a simple moment in the ministry of Christ: “Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’” (Matthew 19:14). This was not merely a gesture of affection; it was a radical statement against the structured, hierarchical thinking of his disciples and most his followers. The Kingdom, Jesus declared, is not for the strong, the educated, or the powerful, but for those who embody the spirit of unencumbered faith, trust, and openness—the spirit of the child.
This eternal truth finds its most active, joyful expression in our own families. My daughter, Kelley, and her little girls, now four and two, serve as a constant, living parable for our family. They are special to the entire Hubbell Clan, but their significance goes far beyond familial affection. They are powerful reminders of the virtues that adults struggle daily to reclaim: curiosity without cynicism, innocence without naivety, and, most potently, the expression of unconditional love. When you witness a child’s wholehearted, unrestrained embrace, you are seeing a perfect reflection of the divine love that binds the universe. Truly, the blueprint for the kingdom of heaven resides in their uncomplicated hearts.
We, as parents and grandparents, often mistake our role. We may believe we are the principal architects of their growth, but we are, at best, the attentive gardeners, responsible only for the environment—the protection, the nourishment, and the structure. The miracle of “growing and maturing” is an intrinsic, God-given process done by the children themselves. If we seek to truly understand the unconditional and proactive nature of God, we need only ask a parent what it feels like to watch their child grow. It is a love that pours out, anticipates need, and delights in simple existence, asking nothing in return—a mirror, however imperfect, of God’s relationship with us.
The great mistake of adulthood is forgetting what it means to be a child. We allow complexity to crowd out clarity, and caution to replace curiosity. We exchange the trusting heart of a child for the suspicious mind of an adult. When we consciously choose to remember and honor the small child within us—the part that trusts, laughs without restraint, and asks “Why?” with genuine wonder—we unlock a deeper capacity for grace. We find that the true entry requirement for a richer spiritual life is not mastery or achievement, but the simple, unearned humility of a child, leading us directly back to a life that is kinder, more loving, and endlessly more curious.
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