Hey, I’m Addison. You’re reading Bigger Than Me—a bi-weekly field guide to advancing the Kingdom of Heaven. If someone forwarded you this, you can sign up or keep scrolling to jump in.
The Holy Family with a Little Bird - Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (1650)
“Go ahead and start without me!” Phoebe chirped, crouched over her shoelaces. “I’ll catch up!”
Rachel set off at a steady jog. Not too fast, not too slow. Controlled. Respectable.
The park was alive with the usual spring buzz: newspapers rustling in the hands of people on benches, the muted hum of passing cyclists, a few couples enjoying their lunches on blankets. Nothing out of place.
Rachel kept her stride even, glancing back briefly to make sure she wasn’t leaving Phoebe too far behind.
Then it happened.
A sudden shout cut through the calm.
“Come on!” Phoebe yelled, bursting into view. “That’s not running! Let’s go!”
Rachel turned just in time to see her.
Arms flailing like Kermit the Frog. Legs flying in every direction. Face lit up with a childlike grin running as fast as she could.
Phoebe passed her at full speed.
No filter.
No form.
No shame.
Rachel froze mid-stride, jogging in place as her body tried to keep pace, but her mind begged to disappear. She could feel the eyes on her. The unmistakable burn of being watched.
She reached up, brushed her hair out of her face in a useless attempt to shield herself, then lowered her gaze and tried to jog on like nothing happened.
It’s a perfect sitcom moment.
The setup, the twist, the social fallout, the awkward confrontation, the heartfelt resolution. Classic Friends. The kind of thing you laugh at without thinking too hard.
Maybe that’s the problem.
Underneath the laugh track is a truth most of us recognize all too well:
Why was Rachel so embarrassed?
Why is it so hard to be unfiltered, playful, or even childlike in public?
Why do we care so much about looking “normal,” even in front of strangers we’ll never see again?
Phoebe didn’t just run differently. She ran freely.
That freedom, the kind most of us outgrow, is exactly what Jesus calls us back to.
“Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” - Matthew 18:3 ESV
This verse is not a metaphor.
Not a suggestion.
Rather, a command.
A return to something we lost:
The identity given by our Father alone.
Freedom to live as His kids without shame or judgment.
And yes, that includes being silly.
The Command: “Become Like Little Children”
This is one of the most jarring things Jesus ever said:
“...unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” - Matthew 18:3
Not you should.
Not it would be helpful if you could.
But unless.
In other words, childlikeness isn’t a bonus feature for the extra-spiritual.
It’s the very starting point for knowing God.
We often confuse it with immaturity.
We hear “childlike” and immediately think of temper tantrums, ignorance, or spiritual shallowness. But that’s not what Jesus meant.
He’s not calling us to act like children.
He’s calling us to become like children once again.
To return to the posture we were created for.
Jesus answered him, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.
Childlikeness is not about simplicity of knowledge, but purity of trust.
The heart posture of a child is not a regression, nor merely recreation, but rather re-creation.
What does this look like in practice?
Radical trust – The kind that leaps off the couch when a father says “jump.”
Joy without justification – Not because life is perfect, but because it’s present.
Play without “productivity” – Creating without needing a purpose or proving value.
Curiosity without fear – Asking questions without shame for not knowing the answers.
Imagination that takes God at His word – Believing outrageous promises like they’re already real.
This isn’t naivety. It’s faith at its most honest.
It’s a willing trust, not a blind one, in the Father’s goodness to you His child.
The kind that says, “I don’t need to control everything, because I know my Father is good.”
Scripture reinforces this posture again and again:
Psalm 131:2 — “I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother.”
Romans 8:14-15 — “For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For all you have received the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’”
1 John 3:1 — “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.”
Matthew 10:14 — “But Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.’”
John 1:12 — “But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God”
This is what it means to enter the Kingdom—not just someday, but now.
To live from the trust, joy, and wonder of being fully loved by God… like a child.
Play Time with Dad
Original graphic by Bryan Arcebal
Learning to play again with your Father is as simple as…
Taking a short walk and pointing out the little things to Him you normally ignore.
Inviting Him to join you while you randomly doodle your thoughts.
Singing a song for only Him while you clean.
Yes, some part of you might feel embarrassed.
You may wonder if you have time for something so “unproductive.”
That’s okay.
You have all the time in the world to learn how much your Father enjoys being with you.
Your Father’s waiting for you.
Go play!
“Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children.”
Until next time,
Addison
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