The Death of a Hamster and the Birth of a Savior

Alvin was Parker’s Christmas present 2 years ago. A hamster was the one thing he wanted more than anything else. And Alvin came with the whole setup, too –a two-tiered cage, a spinning wheel, chew toys, a plastic roaming ball (with stand). Alvin was hooked up. And he couldn’t have asked for a better kid. But it was more than a pet/owner thing. Alvin was Parker’s roommate. Parker would create mazes, play with Alvin as much as he could, and show him off to all his friends. Parker absolutely loved Alvin.

A few weeks ago, though, Alvin started to look, well, not so good. Our hope was that he would at least make it through Christmas. Thankfully, Parker hadn’t really noticed too much. Sure, he knew that Alvin had to get cleaned off a little more than usual (we jokingly referred to them as “Alvin’s butt showers”).

But last night, Carissa came to me and said, “Alvin’s not going to make it through the night.” This morning, Alvin was dead.

As a father, the most difficult thing I can deal with is seeing my kids get hurt. And I knew this one was going to hurt Parker. As I prepared to tell my son that his pet had died (thankfully he hadn’t discovered it yet), I knew the reaction that was coming. I knew he would break down. I knew he would cry. And I knew he would have tough questions that I’m not fully equipped to answer.

But if you know Parker, you know that you never know what’s coming next. He’ll ask questions that only God can answer. He’ll point out perspectives you never expected. He’ll think, create, joke and love in ways you never thought possible. Parker loves deeply, fully and passionately. And I was about to deliver news that would break his little heart. That wasn’t the toughest part. The toughest part was that I couldn’t take the pain away. It was something he was going to have to face.

As I prepared, I was begging God for an answer. “What can I possibly do to help him in this?!” The answer came back loud and clear. “Simply be there for him. Walk with him through it. Parker will surprise you in how he handles this.”

This morning, as Parker broke down in my arms and cried into my chest, all I could do is tell him that I love him and that I’m here for him. It was the reaction I had expected. Then, before we buried Alvin in the yard, Parker (in true Parker form) said the one thing that brought perspective to the whole situation.

With tears in his eyes, he looked up at me and said, “Dad, I wish Adam and Eve had never eaten that stupid apple! But I’m glad Jesus was born to fix it all.”

Sure, Alvin was just a hamster. And we can debate the whole “do pets go to heaven” thing. But the kid gets God’s plan in a way that I think most of us can learn from.

I know I can.