Yesterday was Good Friday, tomorrow is Easter, today is Holy Saturday. If you live in our house it’s more like dance class/band practice/birthday party #1/eye doctor/birthday party #2/wedding reception day.
Last night while sitting in church I heard something I hadn’t heard before. Judah was sitting next to me singing his heart out while reading the words to the hymns. He was singing words like scorned and visage and transgression. I knew he had no clue what he was singing, but he was concentrating on reading each word and singing along. I smiled through the entire worship service, as his small voice echoed in my ear.
We sat in the front row as requested by the kids. Josie was excited as she was eyeing the “snack” that we would partake of. When I attempted to explain what communion is and what the cracker and the juice symbolize, I quickly realized what a poor job I was doing. How does one, after all, explain the meaning of words like symbolize and represent to a 4 year old? She responded with, “Gross. I’m not drinking blood.”
“No honey, you’re not actually drinking blood…it’s just a symbol…it represents…oh, never mind. We’ll have a snack soon.”
After church was over Judah asked if he could have one of the devotional books our pastor was offering for people who were new to the whole idea of Jesus. My first reaction was, “No, save those for the people who really need it. You’re a pastor’s kid for crying out loud.” And, there might be words like scorned, visage, and transgression. Nah.
“Please Mom? I really want one. I promise I’ll read it.”
What am I saying? He wants to read and learn more about Jesus. Why would I discourage this? What’s wrong with me?
“Ummm…go ask your dad.” He is the pastor, anyways.
Long story short, two of our kids went home with devotionals and couldn’t wait to dive in. I felt like a dummy for even thinking twice about allowing it.
For anyone who might be thinking we have super spiritual kids, our evening ended with Judah and Josie stuffing their faces with all the leftover crackers and drinking every last drop out of each little communion cup left behind. I guess Josie was okay with the idea of “drinking blood” after all, as long as it tastes exactly like grape juice.
