"no, i can't say it for you. God gave those words to you. i think He wants them to come from your mouth."
"but i don't want all those people looking at me."
microphones, cameras, lights, all the tools of "Communication".
executives, scientists, academics, elected officials, business owners, citizens, reporters, "Communicators" all gathered together in one room... and a 6 year old boy with a burden on his heart.
we've spent hours on the beach these last few weeks. hours talking about the oil, the beach, the animals, the birds, the fish, the turtles, the tar balls. they both want to understand - why did it happen? what went wrong? where are the 11 missing souls? what is a boom? how does it work? how many more days can they play on the beach? will it smell bad? what will happen to the seashells? how many more days 'til it gets here?
i kneel down so he's taller than me and i look up into his amazing blue eyes. "remember when God told Moses to go talk to Pharaoh? well, Moses was nervous too, but God gave him the strength to do the job."
"yes, but momma, Moses was an old man, i'm just a little kid!"
(andrew reed: "momma, i could say it for him if he wants me to, but if you think it would be better for him to do it all on his own i'll just be quiet.")
"would it help if i held your hand while you talk?" he doesn't need to answer. his little fingers squeezing mine say it all. we wait our turn in line...a long wait. many voices, Grown-Up Voices, waiting to be heard, souls in search of answers. many questions, many words, no answers.
the microphone towers over him like a crane. "momma, can you hold me up so i can talk?" finally, his turn to speak. i step forward so his voice can carry. all eyes on him. slowly, he leans into the microphone. he pauses, then in crystal clear, honest-voice: "hi everybody, i'm wil. i just wanted to say that i think we should all pray because that's the best thing to do. and we should all be grateful that the oil isn't coming our way real fast, and we should be thankful we can still play on the beach, and we should pray that God will protect the beach." simple words, honest heart.
absolute silence.
we step back.
the oil company speaks: "thank you for your prayers wil..."
more silence.
then-
applause!
my heart swells with joy. he has proven himself a faithful vessel. he has overcome fear with the gift of the spirit of confidence!
he sits down on the floor next to his brother. more voices, more questions, more non-answers. he listens respectfully, then motions for me to bend down. i put my ear to his mouth and he whispers
..."momma, can we go pick blackberries now?"
