SIMPLY INNOCENT STORIES Few things in life are as special as the innocence of a child. We are all touched when, out of the blue, a little one says or does something that indicates an intimacy and understanding of the world that is at once, powerful and heartwarming. In my wife, Cheryl's, second grade class, there is a girl whose name is "Andy." She is such a tomboy that her mother once said, "Andy will be the only girl who'll make her first communion wearing white jeans with lace on them." Andy is an extraordinary child because she already knows who she is. She refuses to let anyone call her, Andria, and makes it very clear to all people who meet her what she prefers, Andy. She plays tackle football with the boys and holds her own. Unlike many girls her age, shedding a tear is not commonplace. When she burst into tears the other day right in the middle of class, Cheryl went over to her and sat down and waited for Andy to tell her what was happening. For a few moments, Andy said nothing. She just continued to sob. Cheryl put her arm around Andy, and finally Andy sat in her lap, buried her head in her shoulder, and told her what was upsetting her. "I think Harry's dying," Andy cried. Harry was Andy's pet caterpillar. She found him in her uncle's basement, and brought him to school a few days before. All day long, Harry would crawl all over her while Andy studied. Earlier that day, Andy mentioned to Cheryl that she had eleven other pet caterpillars. She had them at home in cages and named them after the other teachers in the school, and some of her friends. Cheryl said to Andy, "Caterpillars must be very special because God created them." Andy looked at her, listening, her eyes glossy. "Since God created Harry, he will always take care of him. Do you think, Andy, that God forgets anything that he has made?" "No," Andy said, no longer sobbing. "I guess not." "You know, Andy, isn't it great that God has given you eleven new friends. I'm sure you'll never forget Harry, and now you'll have to take special care of all your other friends you have at home." Andy looked at her with curious eyes. "Remember the story of Charlotte's Webb? Remember Wilbur, the pig, who lived in a barnyard all alone. He had no friends and was very lonely. But one day, Wilbur heard someone calling to him. He saw a spider up above him spinning a web. It was Charlotte. She talked to him and they became friends and Wilbur was very happy. One day, however, Charlotte told Wilbur that she was soon going to die. This really upset Wilbur. To console her new friend, Charlotte told Wilbur that she was laying many eggs and eventually hundreds of her children would be with Wilbur and he would never be alone again. Charlotte finally died, and even though Wilbur missed his friend very much, her children comforted him, and he was never alone again." Andy made the connection between the spiders and her caterpillars and was smiling again. Later in the day Cheryl thought how appropriate this experience in Andy's life was on the last day of school before the Easter vacation. Consider for a moment the Easter story itself and its theme of life everlasting. Harry was gone. Many of his brothers and sisters lived on to fill a space in Andy's life, just like Charlotte's filled that void in Wilbur's. And though the Lord is gone, we have each other. We too have spaces that need to be fulfilled. The death and resurrection of Jesus, for Christians, is the living proof of this gift of everlasting life. In our adult experience, we sometimes are removed from the simple lessons that spiders and caterpillars teach us. Sometimes, ugh, we cringe when a spider crawls across our floors. We grab a kleenex and squash the insect not considering the greater scheme of life that includes "all God's creatures, great and small." What erases from an adult's memories the mysteries of life so simple? What destroys the ability to internalize the true meaning of the conquering of death? Years ago, my former minister, Reverend Pete Budde, told a story in Sunday school about a little retarded boy, named Michael. All the children were assigned to bring in on Easter morning something that symbolized to them the meaning of the resurrection. They brought in pictures, story books, and other objects. Michael brought in a Legg's container. He carefully held it in his hands and showed it to all the other children. The children made fun of him. He was used to it. When it was his turn to explain what he brought in, he just opened the Legg's container without saying a word. Everyone immediately understood - the tomb was empty. Some people accept that intelligence, wisdom, high I.Q.'s, status, money, stardom, and all the other trappings of our "modern" civilization are a measure of who and what a person is. They place great stock in the external and forget about the internal mysteries of what defines the human being living in the context of death. Erase all of these and what is left? Caterpillars, spiders, Leggs containers, and all the other simple things around us are all manifestations of the gift given to us each Easter Sunday. Too often we miss them. During this Easter week, take a few childlike moments to smell the April earth. Listen to the growling of the springswollen creeks. Touch the new buds growing on the trees near your home. Feel the breezes blowing through your hair. Most of all, study the spiders, caterpillars, and other small creatures and know a hand much steadier and loving than ours made all of them, and placed them on this earth for a purpose that will remain a mystery to us until we see them with a child's eye.