Heart Matters: Chance Encounter With Jesus


Children’s church was a game of chance — literally. Every week
it was the same question: What mood would 4-year-old Chance be in
today? I found myself growing more tense every week as I waited for
the blue-eyed boy who could charm my socks off — or rock my world
in a bad way. This child — who was one of the congregation’s
favorites — could turn mad-dog vicious in my classroom in an

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This Sunday, I watched him come through the door and I knew. His
extraordinary blue eyes shone bright with an emotion I could never
identify, and his fists were already clenched. We were in for a
rocky ride.

I braced myself and started teaching the lesson, trying to avoid
igniting Chance along the way. After failing numerous times to pull
the class into his dark mood, he beat on the table with both fists,
chanting, “This is stupid! This is all stupid!”


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“You’re stupid, too!” he yelled. “And God is stupid!”

That was it! I couldn’t let him talk that way in front of the
other children. As I approached, he spun out of control,
overturning his chair and pushing the table, trying to knock it
over. The whole time he screamed, “I hate God! I hate Jesus,

I managed to pick him up, taking sharp blows to my shins from his
heels and violent jabs to my midriff from his flailing elbows. He’d
gone too far this time. I was taking him to his mother.

Straight to the Heart

Despite instructions to return misbehaving kids to their parents,
I usually avoided doing that in Chance’s case. His mom was a single
parent and new Christian, and I wanted her to be able to remain in
the service. But it hadn’t taken long for Chance to break down my

In the hallway, I realized I couldn’t carry a whirling, shrieking
dervish into the sanctuary mid-sermon. So I ducked into an empty
classroom. I’d have to calm him down first.

We fought our way to a chair in the corner and I battled to sit
down with him.
Disturbed by Chance’s extreme behavior, my heart raced; I couldn’t
imagine what propelled his behavior.

“Oh, Jesus,” I said, as I lowered Chance to my lap. The whispered
words were more an expression of my bewilderment than a

Instantly, Chance’s body relaxed. His head fell against my chest
and he cried.
“My daddy won’t come see me,” he said. “He’s not a

I could feel his small body trembling. His arms slid up and around
my neck as if grasping for his life.

There was so much pain in that little boy — I could feel it with
my hands as I held and rocked him. I had, at last, the missing
piece of the puzzle. The fire in his eyes was grief. Once I
understood, I hurt with him — even more so when I realized how
long he’d carried his pain alone.

We sat together until his sobs turned to heavy sighs.

“Chance?” I asked. “Do you want me to pray with you?”

He looked at me and nodded. In those amazing eyes I saw another
light, but this time I knew its source. It was hope.

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We prayed together for his daddy. We prayed that his daddy’s heart
would turn back to Chance and to Jesus. Chance felt lighter as I
lifted him from my lap. We walked hand in hand back to the
classroom, where Chance was his charming self for the rest of the

I’d like to report that I never had another bad day with Chance.
That’s not the case. However, I got a priceless education that day
about so-called “problem” kids. I also learned the value of getting
out of the way when the mere mention of Jesus’ name is enough to do
the trick. cm

Marcia Gruver is a children’s church director in Huffman,

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