Tadpole Babies

My babies were dead. All ten of them. Wiped out in a moment of senseless violence. My children had been murdered, and my brother Greg had done it.

I loved my babies. My dad and I went to the lake and retrieved them lovingly, one by one. Oh sure, they were tadpoles now, but they would be turning into babies soon. I was going to raise them; I would be their dad.

It all started when I asked my dad the dreaded question, “Daddy, where do babies come from?” My dad quietly explained that babies came from tadpoles. Mommies and daddies went to the pond and picked out their babies. Then they took them home and raised them in a mayonnaise jar until they were grown up enough to take out and play with. After some begging and jobs to show that I was indeed grown up enough to be a five year old father, we set out for the baby pond.

I selected ten fine looking babies‑in‑waiting. We scooped them up with a net and put them in our mayonnaise jar. We bought goldfish food to feed them. My dad said it was normal food for babies, in fact, I would be feeding my babies the same food that I had eaten when I was a tadpole. It would be a tradition.

It was soon after we brought them home that my babies began sprouting legs. It was an exciting time for me, watching my children forming right before my eyes. Life was good, I was soon to be a Daddy…

My brother Greg walked into the kitchen where my babies were sleeping on the kitchen table in their Miracle Whip jar. Poor things, they never even knew what hit them. Greg pulled the jar off the table. Just like that it was over. My babies were spread all over the kitchen floor and Greg just stood there, blissfully unaware of the carnage he had caused. I ran through the house screaming at the top of my lungs, “Greg killed my babies, Greg killed my babies.” I would have called 911 but we didn’t have it back then.

Before I could get the police to arrest my brother, my mom made my dad sit down with me and tell me the truth. Babies, my dad said, did not come from tadpoles, they came from mommies and daddies. I was crushed, I was not going to be a father.

Have you ever had your dreams crushed? Most of us grew up wanting to be actors, or baseball players, or baseball playing actors. Somewhere along the line we realized that those dreams were not going to come true. We were disappointed, but we regrouped and went on to other things. Every now and then, we feel like giving up when our dreams don’t come true.

That is the wrong response.

The sun will rise tomorrow, there will be other dreams, maybe more important dreams. There are some who never recover from their broken dreams. They drink, take drugs, escape in many dangerous ways. Some of them even take their own lives. Tragic.

If your life has taken an unexpected turn, turn to God. He alone has the ability to turn broken dreams and broken lives into a new sunrise and a new life. You can look in all kinds of different places, try different activities and vices, but you will still end up with the same truth. The only person who can help you is Jesus.

How sad that many people spend their whole lives looking for something that is so easy to find.

Catching more babies, er uh, tadpoles… Jerry