This is the time of year when we marvel at the Incarnation: the Son of God coming among us as the Son of Man. It is a mystery difficult even for adults to fully comprehend, much less children.
“The Ant Lover” is a little parable I wrote to help children begin to think about this wonder. It makes a good family read-aloud and can lead naturally into a discussion of what it means that the Lord took on human flesh, was born as a baby in Bethlehem, and dwelled, or “tabernacled,” among us.
Like any parable, it is full of analogies. This one is about the deep love of Jesus/Yeshua—the love that motivated Him to come to earth and spill His blood to atone for our sins. My hope is that it will stir wonder at such love and open the door to thoughtful conversation with your children.
The ant lover
A parable of the Incarnation
© 1992 Renée Ellison (updated 2026)
Once upon a time when I was a boy (almost old enough to be a man), I had the power to make ants. In fact, I made a whole bunch of those little critters and set the lot of them down in the corner of my backyard near the back fence. I liked them so much I beat it outside several times a day to watch them. They were the main joy of my life.
In the corner of our yard those little fellows exulted, beat their chests, and took dominion over the earth. They set to work building anthills, hunkering down to toss dirt in the air (the way I throw baseballs), haul sticks twice their size, and make tunnels everywhere.
Yes, I sat and watched those guys by the hour. They never knew I was there, because their eyes were so tiny they couldn’t see me. They just thought I was part of the sky ... the colored part that moved.
I lent a hand as often as it seemed necessary, sometimes setting twigs in their path that were just the right size so they would be sure to see them, sometimes removing clumps of dirt that were far too hard for them to break up by themselves.
Once, I destroyed a tunnel they were making because I could see that it was leading straight into Mr. Cratchet’s yard and he makes short work of ants, stomping them out whenever he can. That frustrated my ants, because they couldn’t see him. All they knew was that they had to do the work all over again somewhere else.
I tried to talk to them, too, but they couldn’t hear me. They talk in little grunts that seem like notes. They only hear four notes. They have no idea that there are 88 notes (including sharps and flats). If they ever heard a melody, it would blow their circuits!
I mostly wanted to tell them that they were working too hard, and that many times they were working on the wrong things. I wanted to tell them that life is more than making tunnels: there’s music to listen to, friends to make, chocolate to eat, and baseball to play.
Then there were some of them that had problems the other way. They played too long and forgot that they needed to prepare for the cold winter months.
Sometimes they weren’t too nice to each other either, I’m sorry to say. There’s a long list of not-so-pleasant things I could say about my ants, but I don’t want to speak of those things or even think of them.
Strangely enough, I love those little fellows. I know them well. Because they only inhabit three square feet of my backyard (a little more than that, now), I can see everything they do. I don’t even have to move. I can just sit in one place and see everything.
Most of them have never ventured further than the back sidewalk. They would flip if they saw our kitchen inside the back door. It never snows in our kitchen.
Well, I wanted to talk to those ants so badly. One day I shared my frustration with my Mom and Dad. Their response blew my socks off. They told me that if I loved those ants enough, I could become an ant and go visit them.
“How?” I asked excitedly.
“Love will show you how,” they said calmly.
I replied nervously, “Well, even if I could, wouldn’t you miss me? I’ve never left your side; you know I’ve been homeschooled all my life!”
“Yes, we would miss you terribly, but this may surprise you: we love your ants, too, and we can see that they are having trouble. Because of the help you could bring them, we are willing to let you go.”
I thought about the idea for a long time. For days and days. Then one day, at the start of spring baseball practice, it happened. I stood in the middle of the living room and thought hard about those ants. I loved those ants so strongly in my mind that I began to sweat. I tossed my baseball cap aside and wiped my brow.
I loved those ants more and more, stronger and stronger. Something was happening to me. I began to sweat blood. Those ants meant everything to me. My feet crinkled under me and I sank to the floor. My arms contorted and wrinkled up. I could feel my parents taking things from me: my jacket, my baseball mitt, my cleats. Soon I couldn’t hear them.
I could only hear four notes. There was dirt all around me, oceans of dirt, as far as my eyes could see. Ants feverishly moved to and fro all around me. After a while I realized that they didn’t even notice me. Sometimes I got bumped and rolled over or stepped on.
At night no one invited me into their tunnel. I had nowhere to lay my head. I just slept on top of the ground.
Day after day I tried to strike up conversations with those ants, telling them about that other world, the world I had come from. It was difficult to try to tell them everything with just four notes. Sometimes there just weren’t any notes that could say it.
Imagine trying to explain to ants what it feels like to wash your hair when they’ve never had hair to wash. Or try to explain to these ants what a supermarket looks like, how it feels to shovel snow, win at chess, fly in an airplane, taste eggnog, get a sunburn, see a shooting star.
Even though it was a tough job explaining, a few of the ants began to wonder about it all. They reasoned that if there were four notes, somewhere else there might be five notes, six or even ten. They began to believe me. They began to love me and to love one another.
It’s amazing that believing in me and in another world, mere thoughts they carried around in their heads, made them act so differently toward each other here and now on this brown anthill.
A mob of ants, however, didn’t believe me and didn’t love me. They wanted to make short work of my visit. They rushed me up a hill and tried to sit on me and smother me to death. I got away; there was one more thing I knew I had to accomplish during this visit.
One night I maneuvered across the fence into Mr. Cratchet’s property and gave him a bite that would eventually be fatal. He was furious, of course, and crushed me under his foot, dead.
I awoke in my living room, stretched, and attempted to uncurl my tight limbs. They were marked everywhere Cratchet had stepped on me. Then I felt Mom and Dad vigorously rubbing down my legs, rubbing my arms and chest, rubbing me as if I were an athlete, saying, “Atta boy, you did it!”
I couldn’t wait to run out and see my anthill. Now there were some ants that looked as if they were lit up. You could pick them out from the rest.
Sometimes now, I track them to the top of the hill and then see their tiny lights go out. For a moment, it makes me sad. But each time that happens I return to the house and Mom and Dad present me with another brother in the living room. We have enough for an entire baseball team now. And I’ve a feeling we’re going to be making home runs together forever.
Talk about the story together
After reading, you might ask your children:
“What gift did the boy give his ants by coming to them?”
“What did becoming an ant cost him?”
“How did believing him change the way some of the ants treated one another?”
“Why did more baseball players end up in his living room at the end of the story?”
“How does this story help us think about Jesus?”
These questions can be a starting point for a conversation about the Lord’s love, His coming among us, and how knowing Him changes the way we live.
Further resources
Download the printable story (PDF, 4 pages).
This story is also included in our 106-page softcover book, Biblical Holy Days vs. Pagan Holidays.
