I went to visit my friend the other day. All smiles, she kissed me, grabbed slices of bread and rushed into the yard. Before I could stop her, she was lying on her back and hurling tidbits of bread at the sky.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “Feeding the birds,” she chortled, as crumbs rained down upon her.

I had to laugh, but really what did I expect from a three-year-old? Despite her tender age, she has taught me some vital lessons. You see, I’ve long been intrigued by Christ’s admonition that entering the kingdom of Heaven requires becoming like little children. Evidently, we can’t enter the kingdom with the heavy, ponderous steps of adults. We have to step lightly and freely, and imitate the heart of a child.

This advice seems impossible at first, especially for someone like me who doesn’t have children, but that’s where my friend enters the picture.

One afternoon my little teacher and I went for a stroll, and she spotted a bright patch of daisies. She gently stroked their velvety heads, and then, before I could stop her, tucked two flowers behind her ear. I was tempted to impart a homespun lesson about looking rather than touching, but she was smiling so radiantly, I stopped myself. I tried to recall the last time I’d acted spontaneously without consulting a list.

Moments later, she plopped down on the grass and upended a backpack filled with a menagerie of plastic animals. Under her watchful eye, toy elephants tangoed, zebras sang and horses flew. Suddenly I remembered playing “horses and cowboys” as a child, but now the plastic horse lay lifeless in my hand. When did the miracle run dry?

We wonder why God does not send us a sign, while my friend chases a butterfly and God smiles at her. We check our phones for weather predictions, while my friend admires a cloud and an angel sings.

Christ said many times, “Do not be afraid,” but we run ourselves ragged trying to squelch our seemingly endless fears. We install security systems in our houses, and still we are fearful. We fatten our savings accounts, trying to nail down the future, but still worry we’ll never have enough.

This little girl has her own fears, of course, but she knows her father’s hug vanquishes a battalion of scary monsters from under the bed. She knows taking her mother’s hand protects her from the giant metallic monsters roaring down the street.

Someday my friend will go to school, where she’ll be taught to sit quietly and color within the lines. Instead of dancing down the hall, she will process with the other children in a tidy line. Before long, she will cross the border into adulthood, where the zebras grow mute and horses stand silently. One day, she may awaken from a long, dreamless sleep and find herself like me, trying to imitate the heart of a child.

I hope she will remember the day she threw bread at the sky and wore daisies in her hair. I hope she will recall the lady who visited her and took notes. The lady who realized being childlike is the hardest thing in the world—and also the easiest.

We have to enjoy the snazzy flowers waving on green stalks and treat the birds to a feast. Laugh when things are funny and cry when things are sad. Most of all, we have to trust that someone much bigger than us has everything under control. The one who knows exactly what it was like to be a little child.