Since you asked: The Official Bambam Story. . .

. . . that I wrote probably ten years ago in Verda Glick's writer's workshop by mail, and never sent off to CLP like I intended. Funny how much editing I think it needs now.

BAMBAM
Some years ago, feeling out of touch with the needs of the world, I prayed for opportunities to minister to others. What I wanted was desperate women at my kitchen table asking, "What must I do to be saved?" as their cups of tea grew cold.
Instead, God placed us in an isolated Indian village in Canada, and he surrounded me with children. Dozens of them. They came storming into my life with noisy boots and runny noses. They tracked snow and sand indoors, coughed wretchedly in the baby's face, and taught my son dirty words. Without knocking, they burst into our house at all housr, even late in the evening when my husband was putting the children to bed. They came in with bloody noses that I was supposed to treat, and once a table full of special guests from civilization was treated to the view of Marcel's hockey-smashed nose in the middle of supper.
Just as I was about to tell God that this was not exactly what I had in mind, he sent me Bambam. I believe his given name was Jules, but everyone called him Bambam, and he did his best to bam-bam my hard-won Christian virtues to oblivion.
Bambam was only about five years old, but his capacity for sheer wickedness was developed to a fine art. He threw our children's boots onto the roof, sand into their eyes, and their toys into the lake. In summer he wouldn't share swings; in winter he hogged the sleds. He pitched dirty water on the windows I had just washed. He always managed to blast into the front door just when I had put the baby to sleep. "Aay! Smucker!! Cook-EE!!" he would shout in that peculiar Cree accent, as the baby wailed in the bedroom, clouds of frigid mist rolled across the floor, and I yelled at him to shut the door.
Since Bambam ignored everything less exciting than what he saw on TV at home, including all my lectures, I had no hope of ever having an influence on his life. But it slowly dawned on me that perhaps he was supposed to have an influence on mine. One day I had drained the wringer washer, as usual, via a hose strung down the hall, through the living room, and outside. I unhooked the hose and pushed the washer back into the corner. When I turned around to gather up the hose, I saw a river of muddy water spreading over the floor. I found Bambam outside gleefully pouring dirty water in the outside end of the hose. "Lord!" I yelped silently, "What are you trying to teach me through this child??" There was no answer.
Then there was the raspberry episode. We seldom had fresh fruit, so I was delighted one summer to find wild raspberries growing around the village. I gathered my children one afternoon, handed out little containers, and set out to pick enough raspberries to make a pie. We had barely started down the road when who should join us but Bambam. I couldn't justify sending him home, so he tagged along. I had a sinking feeling that he would find a way to spoil the venture for us. Sure enough, at every clump of bushes he delightedly dived in ahead of me and picked and ate the very fattest berries before I could get to them. I was ready to scream. Again I prayed a silent, exasperated prayer. "God!! WHAT do you want me to learn from this child??!"
As I stood there with my container of berries I got an answer. It was as though God gently pushed aside my frustration and poured the healing balm of his Word. "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not." "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." "Whoso receiveth one of these little ones in my name receiveth me."
I walked home with few berries but a measure of peace. Apparently Bambam was supposed to teach me to love.
So I loved him. Not with my emotions, but with my will. I probably didn't treat him that much differently than before, but there was a new purpose in it. I talked gently when I wanted to scream. I made him sit, glowering, on a kitchen chair when I would have loved to whack him. I let him spend hours at our house when I longed to send him packing.
I had long since given up on having an influence on Bambam's life. God was teaching me plenty, and that was enough. Then came the hallelujah party. The churches in the village didn't want their members celebrating Halloween, so they offered an alternative--a time of games and good food, but no masks or costumes, at the community hall. We bundled up the children and walked over to join in the fun.
It seemed like the whole village had turned out. After all, who could resist the spectacle of plump, 45-year-old David and Mary Kanakakeesic running a relay race with a balloon held between their heads? But my laughter evaporated when I looked around and saw that Bambam was also there and, oh no, he was coming my way. I steeled myself for trouble of some kind.
Bambam walked over to us and in a complete reversal of behavior put his arm around me and announced with a big smile, "MY BEST FRIEND!"
At first I was too stunned at this unbelievable turn of events to respond, but I finally managed to give him a big smile and a hug in return.
It dawned on me that God was no doubt watching, also with a big smile. In his own mysterious way, he had fulfilled my desire to touch a needy life.