Freddy

Freddy Tourney. Six years old, fiery red hair and a multitude of freckles. A sweet, boisterous child, not obnoxious, but just rambunctious, and always needing a little extra attention. I remember him stomping around one night, announcing to all and sundry, "I have new boots! See my snow boots?" You maybe didn't know this kid's name but you knew all about his boots!
I would give the Bible lesson, occasionally, and upon giving the invitation, Freddy would always raise his hand. When taking him aside, he wouldn't really answer any questions that were asked him; instead he would babble on about whatever was on his fresh, young mind. It could have been school, his family, or a bug that he had seen. Whatever came to him. But never did he stop and ask Jesus to come into his heart.
On my way home from school one afternoon in early March, my dad mentioned he'd read in the paper that day that something had happened to one if the kids in our church's AWANA club. I knew instantly in my gut that it was Freddy. My heart raced all the way home, though my dad didn't. Finally, I had the paper in my hands. It took a few times reading through the story to absorb what had happened. Freddy and his older sister had been left in the care of a neighbor while their parents went to work. This sitter had taken a shovel, and beat little Freddy's head in, and then went on to avail himself of the sister's young body. Freddy's was the first funeral I had ever attended. I had just turned sixteen a few days earlier. I was fine until the part where everyone walks by the casket. That is when I cried. It was his face, his body lying there, but it wasn't him. He didn't "look natural", he looked plastic.
I worried quite a bit in the days and weeks following. There were several of the AWANA workers at the funeral, and the other ladies who worked with Freddy and knew him were so sure of his place in heaven. But I wasn't convinced. Each time he'd come forward to talk after a Bible story had ended, not in him making a decision for Jesus, but in just chattering about everything else. I worried for his sweet soul, and also for myself. I confusedly thought that since I hadn't gotten a decision out of him, his blood was on my hands. I'm not sure where I got this faulty idea, but it troubled me for quite some time.
It wasn't until many years later that the truth dawned on me. I had done my job, I had told him of Jesus, and shown him attention and love, and listened to him. I now also see that his big, sweet heart had not yet reached the age of accountability. This is what my coworkers understood at the time of his death. This age is different for each person, but those whose lives expire not having met it, are automatically welcomed into heaven. Freddy's need for contact caused him to raise his hand to talk to me, but he was unable to actually identify his need for the Savior. He didn't yet recognize his sin nature, his sense of right and wrong, and therefore wouldn't be held accountable for his wrongdoing. My heart mourns for a little boy who was robbed of a chance to grow up. And yet it is at peace, knowing that when I make my journey to heaven, Freddy will be waiting to greet me.....maybe he'll be wearing new boots!