When you hear the phrase “bouncing baby,” what comes to mind? For many of us, it’s the image of a giggling child joyfully bouncing on the knee of a parent or grandparent. It’s a universal and heartwarming moment—filled with laughter, love, and just enough strain on the legs of the “horsey” to remind them they’re not as young as they used to be. But they don’t mind. They keep bouncing, because the joy on that little face is worth every second. That exchange—tired legs for giggles—becomes a quiet testament to the strength of love.
But recently, I was reminded that not all bouncing babies are human.
I live in a quiet, wonderful small town in Nebraska. Each day, I have the privilege of taking a 25-minute drive to and from work. That drive winds through the Nebraska countryside, which in springtime transforms into a natural nursery. Bulls, pigs, sheep, and cows dot the fields. And in the midst of it all—new life. Baby animals discovering the world for the very first time.
Just last week, as I rounded a familiar bend, my heart leapt at the sight of a tiny brown calf. It was only a few days old at most, still wobbly in form but confident in spirit. That little calf was bouncing—not on a knee, and not with help. It was bouncing all on its own, circling its mama with an energy and delight that was completely contagious.
There was no need for a strong-legged adult to keep it entertained. This little one had found its legs early—as calves do—and it radiated happiness. Pure, uninhibited, beautiful joy. And in that moment, something clicked.
I began to think about the babies in our own lives. Human babies. They don’t start out walking or running. They are cradled, rocked, held close. They’re bounced on knees, sung to, and surrounded by a chorus of loving voices from parents, siblings, and grandparents. Their joy is our joy. Their innocence, a gift.
But as they grow, our hopes grow with them. Beyond their first steps, we pray they find footing in something even greater—faith.
We hope and pray that our children grow to know Jesus—not just as a story or a name, but as their Savior. We want them to hear his voice, to feel his love, and to understand his grace. Just as Jesus once said, “Let the children come to me,” we too want to guide the little ones in our lives into his embrace.
Even back then, those children may not have fully understood who Jesus was. But they came close. They came near. They listened. And that’s what we want for every child today—to come near, to feel safe in his presence, and to find joy in his words.
Whether you’re a parent, a grandparent, a teacher, a neighbor, or simply someone who cares—our role is the same: to point children toward Jesus Christ. Because when we lead them to Him, He leads them to the Father.
So whether it’s the bouncing joy of a baby on your knee or the carefree play of a calf in a Nebraska field, there’s something sacred in those moments. Something that reminds us of innocence, of love, and of the hope we carry for the next generation.
May we all cherish these bouncing babies—human and animal alike—and do all we can to lead them toward a life filled with joy, kindness, and the everlasting light of Christ.
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