I hear it. The thumping of little feet up the stairs in the wee hours of the morning. In the soft light filtering through our window, I see her, red curls, tousled. More often than not, her thumb is still in her mouth, and she is by my side, patting my arm. “I was scared of nothing,” she says. (That’s her way of saying she woke up afraid, but she didn’t know why.) She just. felt. scared.
God is our protector. God is strong. God doesn’t die. God saves us.
These wonderful truths lisped from the mouths of our boys as we prayed before bed. I listened to them pray and thank God for Who He is. How beautiful it is to hear praise from the lips of children. I watched them pray… Ash kneeling next to his daddy, newly intent on having a respectful posture before God. Bear lying next to me hands folded under his chin.
Then Ash said, “Oh I forgot one. Thank You that You are not fake.”
…how do YOU say you’re sorry?
Bear watched me one morning while I fixed my nectar coffee. Then he sighed and said, “Mom, I wish the whole world was made of coffee.” Now that’s a boy after my own heart (and a boy who’s never tasted coffee, but at least he knows what’s important).
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When we are at the beach we always have Double-Stuf Oreos as a treat. Bear had his first taste of Oreo dipped in milk that week. He dipped, chewed and his eyes lit up, “Why, this is absolutely delightful!”
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And so we’ve bought an unbiblical definition of the good life of success. Our kids have to be skilled at three sports and play four musical instruments, and our house has to be lavish by whatever standard. And all of that stuff is eating time, eating energy, eating money. And it doesn’t promote community…
…You can’t fit God’s dream (if I can use that language) for his church inside of the American dream and have it work. It’s a radically different lifestyle. It just won’t squeeze into the available spaces of the time and energy that’s left over.