Good Fortune and Great Wealth
The kids and I had an interesting time at lunch today. The fare was light, but the conversation wasn't.
It may have started with our prayer, which isn't an uncommon feature of meals but which occasionally gets our eldest thinking and asking questions.
After his first bite of grilled cheese sandwich, he looked across the table at me and asked, "How can God take care of everyone and patrol heaven all at the same time?"
The only context in which this little guy understands the word 'patrol' is this: He's had for some time a silver Matchbox Beach Patrol truck, and we made reference to that truck when he asked us during our July vacation to Point Pleasant, New Jersey, why that guy was riding around the sand on that ATV. So I figured he was picturing God on a four-wheeler, cruising around heaven with a first-aid kit, a life preserver, and a big jug of water, all the while watching simultaneously over the six billion inhabitants of our planet.
"That's a good question," I told him, using the standard parental time-buyer. "The answer is...I don't know. No one really knows what God is like or how he can do all those things at once."
We went on to discuss how hard it is to do two things at once. My son did give me credit for being able to manage, say, washing the dishes and talking on the phone at the same time, but when I asked him if I could talk on the phone and pay attention to him at the same time, he said flatly, "No."
His next question was even tougher. "How does Jesus get inside our bodies?" he asked.
Suppressing a laugh, I said, "Now there's ANOTHER good one!" I've told him that we can't see Jesus or God, but that we can feel each of them inside us, in our hearts. That explanation is obviously not practical for a literal four-year-old. I fumbled to clarify that while we can feel Jesus and God in us, they're not actually IN us.
His next question suggested that I still hadn't quite illuminated things for him. "Do Jesus and God live in different parts of our bodies?"
I pictured Jesus in the fetal position in one of the chambers of the heart, with God crouching in the nearest lung. "No, they don't actually live in any part of our bodies. See, when we talk about the heart, we mean for it to represent...it's symbolic of...we say that it's where our love comes from. And that's why Jesus and God are there."
Phew. He was sort of satisfied by that. But then little sis chimed in.
"Will you go down my slide when I grow up?" she asked. We'd been down this road with big brother (I think all parents travel it)--addressing the belief kids have that someday, they're going to be big and Mommy and Daddy are going to be little.
"No, sweetie. When you're big, I'll still be big," I said. And then I left the table to get some fortune cookies for dessert. I was mentally exhausted.
Child #1 opened his cookie first. "Friends long absent are coming back to you," I read aloud from his fortune.
"What day are they coming?!" he asked excitedly. "We haven't seen any friends in a LONG time!" ('long time' = 36 hours)
Then came Child #2's fortune. "Your wish to reach the top will be granted," it said. Appropriate for a monkey of a two-year-old who will climb on anything.
Finally, it was my turn. I cracked open my cookie and read to the kids, "You are very wealthy, but you don't know it." Oh, after the rich conversation I'd just had with my children, I think I did.
It may have started with our prayer, which isn't an uncommon feature of meals but which occasionally gets our eldest thinking and asking questions.
After his first bite of grilled cheese sandwich, he looked across the table at me and asked, "How can God take care of everyone and patrol heaven all at the same time?"
The only context in which this little guy understands the word 'patrol' is this: He's had for some time a silver Matchbox Beach Patrol truck, and we made reference to that truck when he asked us during our July vacation to Point Pleasant, New Jersey, why that guy was riding around the sand on that ATV. So I figured he was picturing God on a four-wheeler, cruising around heaven with a first-aid kit, a life preserver, and a big jug of water, all the while watching simultaneously over the six billion inhabitants of our planet.
"That's a good question," I told him, using the standard parental time-buyer. "The answer is...I don't know. No one really knows what God is like or how he can do all those things at once."
We went on to discuss how hard it is to do two things at once. My son did give me credit for being able to manage, say, washing the dishes and talking on the phone at the same time, but when I asked him if I could talk on the phone and pay attention to him at the same time, he said flatly, "No."
His next question was even tougher. "How does Jesus get inside our bodies?" he asked.
Suppressing a laugh, I said, "Now there's ANOTHER good one!" I've told him that we can't see Jesus or God, but that we can feel each of them inside us, in our hearts. That explanation is obviously not practical for a literal four-year-old. I fumbled to clarify that while we can feel Jesus and God in us, they're not actually IN us.
His next question suggested that I still hadn't quite illuminated things for him. "Do Jesus and God live in different parts of our bodies?"
I pictured Jesus in the fetal position in one of the chambers of the heart, with God crouching in the nearest lung. "No, they don't actually live in any part of our bodies. See, when we talk about the heart, we mean for it to represent...it's symbolic of...we say that it's where our love comes from. And that's why Jesus and God are there."
Phew. He was sort of satisfied by that. But then little sis chimed in.
"Will you go down my slide when I grow up?" she asked. We'd been down this road with big brother (I think all parents travel it)--addressing the belief kids have that someday, they're going to be big and Mommy and Daddy are going to be little.
"No, sweetie. When you're big, I'll still be big," I said. And then I left the table to get some fortune cookies for dessert. I was mentally exhausted.
Child #1 opened his cookie first. "Friends long absent are coming back to you," I read aloud from his fortune.
"What day are they coming?!" he asked excitedly. "We haven't seen any friends in a LONG time!" ('long time' = 36 hours)
Then came Child #2's fortune. "Your wish to reach the top will be granted," it said. Appropriate for a monkey of a two-year-old who will climb on anything.
Finally, it was my turn. I cracked open my cookie and read to the kids, "You are very wealthy, but you don't know it." Oh, after the rich conversation I'd just had with my children, I think I did.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 8:50 PM
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