The stormy weather of late and this lovely guest post at Marketing MamaTM about the spirituality of children made me think of this story.
About eight years ago I was home with my son Wyatt, then six, during a severe thunderstorm. I was afraid we'd have to take cover, and to cover my own nervousness, I lamely told Wyatt not to be nervous, that our guardian angel was watching over us.
"I know," he said. "God talks to me all the time."
"He does?," I asked after a long pause. What does He say?"
"He tells me jokes."
"What KIND of jokes?," I asked, after an even longer pause.
"'Why did the donkey cross the road?"
I marveled at how the joke either sounded like a) an adult's idea of a kid's idea of what God would say; or b), how God would communicate with a six-year-old boy who loved jokes.
If only I'd had the presence of mind to ask what the punchline was.
Thank you, Missy and Liz, for bringing this memory to mind.
About eight years ago I was home with my son Wyatt, then six, during a severe thunderstorm. I was afraid we'd have to take cover, and to cover my own nervousness, I lamely told Wyatt not to be nervous, that our guardian angel was watching over us.
"I know," he said. "God talks to me all the time."
"He does?," I asked after a long pause. What does He say?"
"He tells me jokes."
"What KIND of jokes?," I asked, after an even longer pause.
"'Why did the donkey cross the road?"
I marveled at how the joke either sounded like a) an adult's idea of a kid's idea of what God would say; or b), how God would communicate with a six-year-old boy who loved jokes.
If only I'd had the presence of mind to ask what the punchline was.
Thank you, Missy and Liz, for bringing this memory to mind.
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