God Knew Your Name

"God Knew Your Name" from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Maybe this is why there's a plastic pirate in my suitcase.

It's one of the little pieces of the past still scattered around my house that I can't bring myself to get rid of.

I found it years ago, tucked in a side pocket. I remember when it was purchased. It was part of a set I bought at a chess tournament in which Trevor was competing. At the time Evan was a baby in a stroller. How many chess tournaments I dragged him and his sister to! We would hang out in hotel lobbies or malls or libraries while Trevor played, and I would do my best to occupy the non-chess players for the day. I don't know what happened to the rest of this set, but somewhere along the way this lone guy ended up in my suitcase. For years now that's where he has remained, a symbol of a time long past. He has gone on lots of trips with me over the years. I forget about him between trips, but when I go to pack I reach into the pocket and there he still is, and somehow there is comfort in his being, and remaining, there. I think he may stay there always, and some day accompany me when I pay a visit to Evan and his wife and children.

But for now, like the author of "The Last One," I will treasure these days of still having a boy who, even in his ten-year-old bigness, wants to crawl up on my lap, put his arms around my neck, lay his head on my shoulder, and whisper in my ear, "I love you so much, Mom." He's not quite grown up yet, Mr. Pirate Man. And somewhere inside him there will always be that little boy who repeatedly dropped you from his stroller and reached his arms up to me, begging to be lifted out. Together, we'll hold on to the memory.

Yesterday Once More

A few years ago I received a friend request on Facebook. At first I didn't recognize the person but soon realized she was someone I had attended junior high school with. I also remembered that for a time in junior high she tormented me pretty heartlessly. We moved to the town in question when I was in sixth grade and left when I was in eighth grade, so I was not there for long. I did make some good friends during that time. But for some reason I was selected by others as an easy target, and quite a few of the girls made it their business to let me know I did not belong. It was rough.

When I got this woman's friend request I thought about just ignoring it. But then I thought, maybe she wants to make amends. Maybe she is sorry. So I accepted the friend request. Over the last couple of years we have had almost nothing to do with each other on Facebook. Instead I have watched as this poor woman has endured a pain I can't begin to imagine: the suicide of her adult son. Through that ordeal and its aftermath I have seen her cling to Christ as her only means of survival.

A few days ago I received a private message from this woman. She said she was going through her friend list and asked me how we knew each other. I wrote back and said we went to school together in junior high school but then I moved away. A little part of me wanted to say, "How can you not remember me? You made fun of me for several years!" But of course I didn't. I told her that I understood the desire to trim one's number of friends and I would completely understand if she wanted to trim me. She wrote back and said no, that wasn't her goal--she just wanted to place who I was and now she remembered friending me at the suggestion of another mutual friend.

I don't harbor anger for this woman. It was so long ago, and she was just a little girl (a scary, mean one, but a little girl nonetheless). I'm not really sure why I'm sharing this story. Perhaps it is simply an example of how long we tend to carry hurts around with us. I remember this woman calling me "Bleached Legs" like it was yesterday. It took me years, well into adulthood, to get to where I could wear shorts or skirts without stockings and not feel self-conscious about my white skin. But she doesn't even remember. It's stupid, isn't it, how we let those who have hurt us in the past continue to hurt us in the present when they have long ago forgotten and moved on?

Sugar, Sugar

"Mom, it's important that children get enough sweets. It they go without sweets for two months they might get a sugar coma. With a sugar coma they will itch all over and everything will taste sour. But won't worry, adults don't get sugar comas, only kids."

Giving Our Children Their Due

A week or two ago a Facebook friend of mine shared the experience of her daughter's wanting to download a certain song that is very popular these days. My friend, extraordinary parent that she is, researched the song and discovered its unsuitability for a sixth grader. (For the curious, the song is "Moves Like Jagger"--if your preteens are listening to it, they really ought not to be.) Accordingly, she vetoed her daughter's request. On the Facebook thread in question, another parent posted a warning to my friend, something to the effect of "It's only going to get worse."

I see and hear this sentiment from parents a lot. It is the idea that children are hard-wired to challenge what they have been taught--that it is only natural for them to rebel as they get older. Many parents seem so convinced of this that they anticipate it long before it shows any signs of happening, and as a result I think they actually start pushing their children towards questionable choices in behavior, clothing, music, and more. It happens with young children as well as older ones. The 6-year-old girl sasses her mother and instead of being chastised and immediately put in her place she is celebrated and giggled at for being such a spunky little wisecracker. The 13-year-old selects low-ride short shorts on a shopping trip and instead of putting her foot down Mom shrugs and pays for them because "I guess that's what all the kids are wearing now."

The thing is, that's not what all the kids are wearing. Mine isn't. (Nor does she want to.) My kid also isn't talking back. Well, maybe the 8-year-old is sometimes. We're working on it. ;-) But having seen two children almost through adolescence with one yet to go, I refuse to accept the notion that adolescence is a time of life when, no matter what I do, my child is going to suddenly turn into someone unknown to me. I understand that sometimes things happen that we could not have predicted. Sometimes despite all our best efforts our children choose a foreign path. We are, after all, sinners in a fallen world. But far from its being the natural course, I believe it is unnatural for humans to reject their upbringing. Children who have been brought up to travel a certain path and who are repeatedly pulled back on to that path by determined, caring parents are much more likely, even if they briefly wander, to return to what they know to be safe and right and true than they are to head off into the woods.

I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but for what it's worth, here's my plea: Parents, please give your children credit for being the thoughtful, discerning, smart people you are rearing them to be. Respect their good taste, intelligence, moral compass and maturity. Don't write them off as hapless victims of the culture monster. Give them the best and expect the best in return. In my experience, not only will they continue to hold firm to the storehouse of intellectual and spiritual riches with which you have provided them, but they will go far beyond it, contributing their own discoveries and observations, which will in turn come back to enrich and edify you. And why should it be otherwise? They're your kids, after all.

Beyond His Years

Last night we had my youngest child's 8th birthday party. His birthday was actually last week, but we couldn't work it out to get together with friends until this weekend. We invited two families to join us at a nearby bowling alley for arcade fun, bowling, pizza and cake. My kid is the one with the goofy smile.

Last night on the way home in the car--it was just me and Evan because Dad and sister were in another car--Evan's joy was palpable. I am reminded of that old song, "My Cup Runneth Over." Evan's cup was definitely pouring out all over the back seat. He kept telling me how much he loved me and what a great day he had had and at one point said, "I'm happy I'm alive." I told him that he had many blessings and a thankful heart and he agreed.

Last night when it was time to go to bed we "snuggled" together for a long time. Suddenly Evan turned serious and mused aloud, "I guess I'll be too big for the children's museum soon." I told him of course he wouldn't--that there are adults going to the children's museum all the time. Then he stated, "I miss my younger days." I told him I did, too, a little. He responded: "But we can't reverse the days."

No, Evan, we can't.

"We can't time travel."

No, Evan, we can't time travel.

I asked him what he missed and he said he missed some of his old toys and sitting on my lap and his preschool class (even though we homeschool our children Evan went to the half day preschool at our church for a couple of years). I told him he could still sit on my lap and he said, "Yeah, but pretty soon I'll be too big to fit." Then he started to cry: "I miss Mrs. Bolt [his preschool teacher, who died several years ago from breast cancer]. And I miss Grandmother and Granddad. And I miss Trevor [his brother, who is away at college right now]." The sobs became loud and furious.

I hugged and comforted him, of course, and once he calmed down we talked. I told him I understood his sadness because the passing of time is a hard thing to accept, but we have no choice but to do so. God made him to grow and to some day grow up, and that is what he is going to do. I told him that parents are sad sometimes to see their babies grow up but that at the same time they are overjoyed to see all the wonderful things that come with those babies growing up and that I was so excited to see where life would be taking him. He took all this in and then said, "Some people don't have children."

"No, Evan, some people don't."

"That's sad."

"Yes, that's sad. But some people have a different calling. Not everyone gets married."

"But some people get married and still don't have children."

"That's right. For reasons we don't understand, God does not send children to all married people. It might be that He has other plans for them--other things that He wants them to do." I gave him the example of a faithful Lutheran couple in his life that do not have biological children but that have many, many people that they serve and care for in other ways, including spiritually. And then I told him that there are seasons of life--that there is a time for having babies and a time for not having babies. He looked up at me questioningly:

"We're not going to have another baby."

"No, we're not going to have another baby. Right now Dad's and my job is to take care of the babies we already have."

At that point the conversation took a different turn--I think it may have been to tell me about the Sponge Bob episode he watched earlier--and I instructed my newly minted 8-year-old to get his pajamas on and brush his teeth. We met in his room a little while later for bedtime story and prayers and I pulled out a family favorite: Love You Forever by Robert Munsch. I couldn't remember if I had ever read it to Evan. If I had, it had been a long time ago and he didn't remember either.

We started to read the book and already on the very first singing of the "Love You Forever" poem on the first page I started to choke up. But we forged ahead. I told Evan to keep his eye out for the kitty in the story, which is on every page until the boy in the story grows up and moves away from home, at which point that first kitty is nowhere to be found but a brand new baby kitten can be seen at the now grown up man's new house. Evan had fun looking for the kitty but I could tell he was taking the book very seriously. As we neared the end--the page where the man visits his old, sick mother and holds her on his lap--I wondered to myself, "Oh dear, what have I done? What was I thinking in pulling out this book?" I offered to put the book away and told Evan we could finish it another time. Amidst his tears, he said no. He wanted to read to the end.

I think that to the extent that an 8-year-old is able, he understood the book. He understood that some day that old lady with gray hair and glasses will be me and he will be the grown-up man who holds his elderly mother on his lap and sings her the "Love You Forever" song before going home to sing it again to his newborn baby girl. After we finished reading, tears streaming down both our faces, I told Evan that this book is about the passing of time and how we grieve the things we leave behind but how we pass those things on to our children, and our children pass them on to their children, and how it goes on forever and ever until the end of time. The book does not come from a Christian viewpoint, but I reminded Evan that the love that gets passed down through generations started with Jesus and will end with Jesus when we join Him in heaven.

With watery eyes, Evan looked at me. "That's a sad book, Mom."

"Yes, Evan, but it's a happy book, too."

"Yes, it's sad and happy. It's almost got too much sadness and happiness to take."

Welcome to the rest of your life, Evan.

He went to the shelf to get another book.

Be Careful What You Dream

Last week at a rehearsal of our parish children's choir, our associate cantor (filling in for my husband) was working with the children on singing vowels. At one point she instructed them to pretend to pick an apple off a tree, the plan being (I think) to have them "bite" their apples, resulting in wide, open mouths and lifted soft palates. But no sooner had everyone started reaching up arms to pick "fruit" from their "trees" than one conscientious young lady raised her hand and observed, "You're not supposed to do that. Picking apples is against the law. So is picking leaves."

Sigh. Having taken over the real world, political correctness has now moved on to our imaginations.

Twenty-Four and Counting

(Rerunning this post, updated, from three years ago.)

Once there was a little girl named Cheryl . . .


. . . and a little boy named Phillip.

Cheryl lived in Texas. Phillip lived in lots of places--Virginia, Malta, Maine, Nebraska--until one day, he too came to reside in the Lone Star State.

Cheryl & Phillip both loved playing the piano--so much so that they ended up majoring in music at the same school. When Cheryl was a freshman and Phil was a sophomore, they met and became friends.

Then they became more than friends. . .

. . . and the day came when they invited all their loved ones to come to a wedding! First was the rehearsal . . .

. . . then the wedding. Phew! We did it!


It was a grand day, with cake, punch, music . . .


. . . and lots of friends and family.


When the festivities were over, Cheryl and Phil made a quick getaway . . .

. . . and drove off to start their new life.

In time there was a baby . . .

. . . and another . . .

. . . and another.

Phil and Cheryl lived happily ever after, turning one year of marriage into five, ten, fifteen, twenty, and as of today, twenty-four.

Happy anniversary to the one and only love of my life, the one who completes my days, and without whom I can't imagine living. As we stand on the threshhold of the next twenty-five years, I can't wait to see what lies ahead.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you." (Jeremiah 29:11-12)

Birds in Church

Yesterday at church the Hymn of the Day was "Consider How the Birds Above" (Lutheran Service Book 736). Our bulletin contained the following note on the hymn:

"The Hymn of the Day is a contemporary hymn with words by LCMS pastor Stephen Starke and a tune by Daniel Zager, an LCMS church musician and doctor of musicology at the Eastman School of Music. The text is rich with Scripture, drawing not only from today's Gospel reading (Matthew 6:24-34) but also from 1 Timothy 6:8-10 and 2 Corinthians 12:7-10. With or without the music, this hymn provides a wonderful spiritual exercise, reminding us of God's loving care for us in our daily lives that we may be kept mindful of His grace and trust His promises: 'For He who faced for you the cross will give you strength to live each day.'"

When it came time to sing the Hymn of the Day I heard a few high notes from the organ, then silence. My first thought was that the Cantor must have made a mistake--maybe he started to play and then realized he had the wrong registration and stopped to fix it. Or maybe he just hit a few stray keys by mistake. It happens to the best of us. :-) But then it happened again: random-sounding high notes played in various combinations and rhythms that didn't seem to be connected. Then as I listened the randomness disappeared and it all began to make sense: BIRDS! I'm hearing birds! The bird sounds continued intermittently as the hymn introduction began in earnest and as the congregation sang the first stanza:

"Consider how the birds above
Feed day by day with carefree ease--
Does God not keep them in His love?
Are we not worth much more than these?"

Once I figured out what the organist (a.k.a. my husband) was up to, I leaned over to Evan, my 7-year-old, and called his attention to it: "Evan, listen! Birds! Do you hear them?"

He did, and his eyes lit up as he listened. I then showed him the title of the hymn and told him that it was about what we had just heard in the Gospel reading: how if the birds see no reason to worry we don't need to either, since God loves us even more than he loves them! Evan smiled with understanding, and when it came time to sing he joined me and made it through almost the entire hymn without a loss of attention. (Such is not always the case.)

I share this story to demonstrate how the tiniest detail can focus the mind and spark the imagination, not just for children but for sleepy grownups, too. The "birds" in the Hymn of the Day turned something abstract--the words on the page--into something concrete. Suddenly we weren't just singing about birds--we were hearing them! And that hearing led us to give more attention to the words of the hymn and consider its message and connect it to the larger theme of the service. It was such a small thing, yet it accomplished so much.

If you're a parent trying to teach young children to worship, keep your antenna out for things like this--things in the service that appeal to the senses that you can utilize to draw your children in. Don't be afraid to talk to your children during church and point out elements of the service that they can easily grasp because of their concreteness, and then use those things to discuss the larger, more abstract picture of what is going on in worship.

And if you're a pastor or musician, look for ways to highlight what is happening in worship in a way that illuminates the message for those in attendance (both young and old). It doesn't take a high level of skill, but it does take planning, which in turn takes time. But if our worship is as important to us as we claim that it is, doesn't it deserve a measure of both?

Unbelievable

I just saw a segment on Fox News about the problem of kindergarten bullying. Yes, you read that right. We're talking about 5-year-olds. Instead of fighting over Legos, in many cases they are forming cliques for the purpose of ostracizing and tormenting selected individuals who don't dress the "right" way or possess the latest status symbols. Here's a recent New York Times article about the phenomenon.

But as disturbing as it is to hear about kindergarteners being so systematically cruel to their peers, that's not the part that I found unbelievable. Humans in their fallen, unredeemed state are nasty creatures. Hurting one another, unfortunately, is what we do. Children are no exception. So no great surprises there.

No, what I found mind-blowing was the mom who recounted her decision to let her 5-year-old daughter fight off the bullies herself so that she could learn "valuable" lessons about getting along with difficult people.

IS THAT MOM OFF HER ROCKER?

I was the target of bullies for most of my junior high years. When I was in sixth grade we moved to a rural area of Texas that was populated mostly by families that had lived there for generations. I was a buck-toothed, red-headed, fair-skinned, book-wormish outsider and that made me ripe for bullying. And it wasn't just the occasional, random comment. It was large groups of girls going out of their way to make my life miserable. I was called "bleached legs" and "rubber lips" (because of the way my protruding teeth made my lips look) and I don't know what else. I remember one particularly painful episode in home economics class when several girls in the class enacted my wedding day. They opined that instead of "Here Comes the Bride" the processional song would have to be "Here Come the Lips."

I don't know where the teacher was that day. It amazes me in retrospect how often it seems there was no teacher around.

I was 11 or 12 years old at the time, naturally shy, and the product of a family background that had already taught me the value of staying out of people's way. I was not able to defend myself against those girls, nor did I learn anything worthwhile about handling difficult people. What I learned was how to cocoon myself up into an even tighter little ball and put up a bunch more walls in an effort to keep from getting hurt again. Some of those walls are still there and I doubt they will ever come down.

But enough about me. I did not get the name of the mom on the Fox News program who was promoting letting 5-year-olds fight their own battles, but I searched online and found this recent column that sounds very similar to what I heard on television: "Sometimes It's OK to Let Your Kid Be Bullied." The author talks about not wanting to be "that" sort of mom: the one every teacher dreads because she is the ever-present "helicopter" hovering around, wanting to control and micro-manage every aspect of her child's life. Well, I've got news for you, lady: 5-year-olds need to micro-managed. They NEED their parents. No one else is going to look out for them the way we will. No one else cares that much. If we abandon them, they might as well be wandering alone in the forest, with a Big Bad Wolf hiding behind every tree.

The author of the "Sometimes It's OK" column says that when things finally got out of hand, she did step in. The verbal bullying finally turned into physical abuse on the next-to-last day of school. Nice going, Mom. But if you had done something sooner maybe your little girl wouldn't have had to go into her summer vacation with scratch marks.

Here's the deal. Children are little sinners. They are selfish and want their way. When you put several of them in a room together they are bound to have disputes. But a dispute between children who are on equal footing is one thing. The terrorizing of one who is weak by one (or more) who is more powerful, either physically or emotionally, is an altogether different thing. I don't care whether we're talking about children, or middle-aged men, or little old ladies. When the weak are being victimized, the strong are called to help. And when that happens, our children really do learn a valuable lesson.

"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."

Back in Time

I think this may be why my husband married me, or at least why I initially caught his eye. I reminded him of his childhood pet, a cocker spaniel named Ginger. (Do you see the resemblance?)

Rest in peace, Ging. I wish I could have met you.

Please tell me you're not getting this . . .

. . . for the little girl on your Christmas list:

Barbie in a burqa (burkha?)

Call me old-fashioned, but what ever happened to easy bake ovens and dolls that pee?

Like Father, Like Son

A few days ago I rounded the corner from our kitchen to our family room and saw a masculine figure sitting at the computer. It took a second look to discern whether it was my husband or my older son.

Later that same day while I was upstairs in my bedroom I heard a deep male voice singing in the living room. It took a few more seconds before I could ascertain which of the baritones in my family it belonged to.

Yesterday the younger of those two baritones led the chanting of Psalm 4 at church. There was a time when I used to read Psalm 4 to that same child almost every night before bed: "In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you, alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety."

It's getting harder and harder to tell who's playing the piano at any given time, and to sort out the socks and underwear, and to talk to a male member of my family without looking up.

I think I'm seeing a pattern here, and it's wonderful and depressing at the same time.

Hope

We're hearing a lot about hope these days. It's an irresistible word, yielding much in the way of good feelings but requiring little specificity or accountability. This, of course, is why politicians love it. For who could possibly be against hope? We want our children to feel it as they consider their future. It pains us when unpleasant reality forces us to share harsh truths that may have the effect of dashing youthful hope and idealism.

Sometimes, though, we have to do it. We have to be honest with our children about the fallen condition of the world in which they live. Perhaps it seems cruel and unfair.

But what I think is more cruel and unfair is to create and nourish false hope, as so many are doing today by buying into and propagating the lie that one man can singlehandedly wipe the slate clean and create an environment in which understanding reigns supreme and all problems can be solved if we just put our minds to it. I know all politicians engage in such rhetoric to some extent, but in my lifetime I have never seen so many people hang so much on one individual. It's as though at noon tomorrow we are all going to find ourselves in a brand new reality, one defined by hope. But here's a rather "inconvenient truth": feeling hopeful doesn't accomplish much. We have some big, big problems in this country. Human nature is such that we will never solve them all. As we try to address them, there will be differences of opinion, and it is not unreasonable or partisan to air those differences.

As much as we might like to, we can't promise our children a world in which hoping for something equals achieving or receiving it. But wouldn't it be nice if we could give them a world that at least promises them the chance to hope and to dream and to pursue all that it means to be human?

Mr. Obama, you were given that chance. Shouldn't everyone?





HT: Pastor Esget

A Benefit of the Economic Downturn?

According to this article, daycare facilities across the country are seeing declining numbers as parents are pulling their children out because of inability to pay. The article outlines various strategies parents are utilizing instead, including rearranging schedules so that one parent can always be home for the children and turning to family members (particularly grandparents) to help out with child care. The attitude of the article is that this is all VERY BAD NEWS.

Huh? Children spending more time with parents and grandparents is a bad thing?

Granted, there are horror stories about parents who leave their children with unqualified people in unsafe environments or who even go so far as to leave their children in the car while they are working. But these are indicative of bad parenting, not a child care or economic crisis.

What I resent most of all is the child care "expert" in the video that accompanies the article who predicts dire consequences of children not being able to attend day care. Her argument is that somehow they will miss out on crucial early learning and that as a result they will be intellectually harmed for the rest of their lives.

Again, huh? This ridiculous argument assumes that children can learn nothing from their parents or other caregivers. Those of us who homeschool beg to differ, having found that the nurturing environment of the home, with teachers who love their "students" more than this world, is in fact the best possible learning situation.

I currently send my 5-year-old son to our church preschool. But I don't do it so that he can learn. I do it because it gives me a few hours several times a week to do things that are harder to do with a 5-year-old around and because it's fun for him. And in our case, because my husband is on staff at our church, tuition is free. If we had to pay for preschool, my son wouldn't be attending because we would not be able to afford it. It is a luxury, not a necessity.

My husband and I have been considering the state of the economy and what effect the President-Elect might have on our own financial situation. We are not optimistic. If it turns out that our tax situation changes to the point that it is not profitable for me to do the part-time work I am currently doing, I will quit and spend even more time with my children than I do right now. And you know, that might not be such a bad thing.

A Sad Story and a Happy One

My friend Melody shares some stories of children being bullied in school. For many of us, these are all too familiar tales. I was personally on the receiving end of such persecution throughout junior high school, and I think that experience had at least some influence on my decision to homeschool my own children. I did not want them to be subject to or even see some of the things that I know go on in school. (By the way, what I went through was not just of the "I'm friends with her and not you" variety. It was systematic Persecution with a capital P.)

But thankfully, there are some positive stories out there to balance the negative ones. Here's one from this weekend's Chicago Tribune. Read it and feel a little better about young people today.

"Child"

I've always liked this poem by Sylvia Plath. Lately as I seem to be struggling with more moodiness than usual I find myself personally identifying with it. I look into the clear eyes of my beautiful children and want to be the kind of mother that fills those eyes with "color and ducks" and things "grand and classical"--not my own "troublous wringing of hands."

(To my friends and family: don't worry, I'm only identifying with the poem, not the poet!)

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

The Faith of a Child

This collection was recently forwarded to me by a friend. Whenever I get these things I always wonder whether they are completely true or if there is a bit of artistic license involved. Either way, they are hilarious. Enjoy!

1) Overheard prayers:

"Our Father Who art in heaven, Harold is His name."

"And forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets."

"Lord, if you can't make me a better boy, don't worry about it. I'm having a real good time like I am."

2) After the christening of his baby brother in church, Jason sobbed all the way home in the back seat of the car. His father asked him three times what was wrong. Finally, the boy replied, "That preacher said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, but I want to stay with you guys."

3) A Sunday school teacher asked her children as they were on the way to church service, "And why is it necessary to be quiet in church?" One bright little girl replied, "Because people are sleeping."

4) A mother was preparing pancakes for her sons, Kevin 5, and Ryan 3. The boys began to argue over who would get the first pancake. Seeing the opportunity for a moral lesson, the mother remarked, "If Jesus were sitting here, He would say, 'Let my brother have the first pancake, I can wait.'" Kevin turned to his younger brother and said, "Ryan, you be Jesus!"

5) A father was at the beach with his children when the four-year-old son ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and led him to the shore where a seagull lay dead in the sand. "Daddy, what happened to him?" the son asked. "He died and went to Heaven," the Dad replied. The boy thought a moment and then said, "Did God throw him back down?"

6) A wife invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to their six-year-old daughter and said, "Would you like to say the blessing?" "I wouldn't know what to say," the girl replied. "Just say what you hear Mommy say," the wife answered. The daughter bowed her head and said, "Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?"

3-Year-Old Wisdom

Today as we were having lunch, my 3-year-old (see previous post) looked at me across the table, smiled, and lovingly announced, "Mommy, you're a nice old person."

Gee, thanks, honey . . . . I think.

I'm sure he meant it in the best possible way.

Home

A few nights ago I sang "Jesus Loves Me" to my 3-year-old. It was certainly not the first time I have ever done so, but I think it was the first time in a while that I have sung to him all three stanzas (at least the three stanzas I know):

Jesus loves me, this I know

For the Bible tells me so

Little ones to Him belong

They are weak but He is strong.

Yes, Jesus loves me

Yes, Jesus loves me

Yes, Jesus loves me

The Bible tells me so.

Jesus loves me, He who died

Heaven's gates to open wide.

He will wash away my sin,

Let His little child come in.

Jesus loves me, He will stay

Close beside me all the way.

If I love him, when I die

He will take me home on high.

After I finished singing, Evan beamed at me and said, "Mommy, Jesus will take me home." I affirmed that yes, indeed, Jesus would take him home, and we talked about how right now we are living in our earthly home but that some day Jesus will take us to our forever home in heaven. As we continued the nightly bedtime ritual--stories, kisses & prayers--Evan several more times interrupted the proceedings to announce again, "Mommy, Jesus will take me home." And in the last few days he has come to me over and over to state, "Mommy, Jesus will take me home." I wish I could bottle the look on his face as he speaks these words: I find myself humbled by the pure trust and joy that I see there.

Evan has a pretty nice home here on earth. He has plenty to eat, a warm bed to sleep in, a dog to play with, a bedroom full of toys and books, a swingset in his back yard, and a long list of people who love him dearly. He has few worries, knowing that Mom and Dad will provide for all that he truly needs. So I find it remarkable how quickly he latched on to the idea that he has another home beside this one, that it is a place he wants to be and that Jesus will take him there. Yet why should I find it so remarkable? Evan is one of Jesus' little lambs, baptized into his Saviour's holy name, and he recognizes his Shepherd's voice. Even now, at the tender age of 3, there is something within him that knows that his true home is not of this world but with his Saviour in heaven, and he longs for the day when he will see that Saviour face to face. May each of us look with that same childlike anticipation to the day that our Lord will gather us in His arms and take us to our forever home.

"And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also." (John 14:3)