My little thief

Do you remember the good old days? When we could walk to the corner store, pick up milk, chocolate bars, maybe a new bike? You can’t get away with that anymore. They have surveillance cameras now. Well, theft is no laughing matter.

Photo by Analia Baggiano on Unsplash

One Sunday morning I sat beside an eight-year-old that I love more than my own life. “Honey,” I said, “is there something you did in the bookstore that you need to tell Grandpa?”

“No,” she said, looking thoroughly confused and innocent. The girl reminded me of me. It was a frightening thing.

“Ah, Sweetie, did you take something that wasn’t yours?”

More confusion and innocence.

“Did you steal some gum and candy?”

She looked down and shook her head less convincingly than before. I was thinking of consequences and the hardness of her heart and wondering what it will be like visiting her in prison. My granddaughter. The kleptomaniac. The gum thief who couldn’t stop. Began with small stuff. And was soon stealing cars.

But she was cornered like a mouse now. “Yes,” she sobbed as tears raced down her face. “I took it, Grandpa.”

Is this remorse or the shame of being caught?

“Stealing is wrong,” I said. “How do we know?”

She looked up. “God says that.”

The tears were a torrent now, landing Splat! on the red dress she just put on to wear to church. So I told her of my own sins. “I was nine when I stole quarters from my brothers,” I began. “A quarter could buy enough candy to fill a bathtub. I stashed it under my bed.” She was listening intently.

“You did?”

“Yes. My mother cleaned under my bed once a year. This was that once. I told her it was my friend’s candy. I was saving it for him.” Her eyes grew wider with each sentence. “My mom caught me stealing and lying all in one day.”

“What did she do?”

“Sold me to a glue factory. No, she didn’t. She made me pay back my brothers with some money I’d been saving.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want me taking things that are yours?”

“No.”

“I want to trust you when you say something. Did your friend take candy too?”

Big pause. “Yes. I told her to.”

“Oh, Sweetie.” My mind tried to absorb this new revelation. Thieves adore allies. “Uh…are you sorry?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s talk to Jesus about it. He loves you very much, you know. And so do we.”

After she prayed, I asked, “Will you say sorry to your friend?”

“Uh huh.”

“We’ll go see her this afternoon. Tomorrow you can say sorry to the bookstore owner and pay him back.” She looked relieved then terrified. “Okay,” she said. The next day the store owner was more than gracious. My precious former thief couldn’t stop smiling for a week. And warning her brother about theft.

Four months passed. Today she FaceTimed me. “Grandpa,” she said, “I memorized Psalm 1 like you asked me to.” She didn’t skip a word as she repeated it to me.

I think it helped that I offered her $20 to memorize that psalm. It’s money well spent. God bless you, my darlin’ granddaughter. Now, you can go to the bookstore. Buy a good book and, if you memorize a few more chapters, enough gum and candy to fill the bathtub.

Article credit (c) 2024 by Phil Callaway. Used by permission of philcallaway.com.