by Theresa Morrison

Created on: April 08, 2010

I keep journal excerpts of conversations I have with my five year old son about God and faith - because in faith, childlike nature is king. I scribble his words like a student wanting to remember a lesson long after the class is through. I write these conversations because my son will grow up and his own words may prove far better than anything my thirty-plus year old heart will be able to summon.

Excerpt 1:

On the ride to the park this evening I turned to my husband, who will be starting his new job next week and said "Last day tomorrow."

Before he could respond, my son chirped from the far back of our van "Excuse me, Mama, is tomorrow the last day?"

Slightly confused, I started to explain that indeed tomorrow will be his father 's last day at his current job, but he seemed not to hear me and continued on his own - "Is tomorrow the last day and we'll all go to see God and Jesus?"

From the mouths of babes.

My children always think in this sort of way - grand, eternal, forever is always on the horizon, life unfurls before them and they charge at it with urgency. They aren't cluttered by the things that concern us: clocks, cell phones, putting meals on the table, getting bills in the mail.

For my children, clocks are only useful if it's Christmas Eve and they're counting the minutes - cell phones are always for talking to Grandma - food is a gift from the grocery store, cooking it is a melody of spoons banging on pans as things boils on the stove - and the mailbox is always magic. Glorious strips of unsolicited address labels, March of Dimes envelopes with nickles glued just beneath rectangles of plastic, letters from Sunday School teachers or a Highlights Magazine, all left by sheer serendipity.

And so when my son asked us if tomorrow is the last day, my husband and I first had to stop ourselves from dismissing him so easily. We had to unplug ourselves from our own tangled net of obligations and distractions, in order to step back and see the world as it is. A time line unknown in a world of choice and consequence, a place of hope just around the corner and in the present moment, if we'll only stop long enough to grasp it.

Excerpt 2.

In our prayer time tonight, I was explaining to son and daughter a sad situation that I was going to be praying for. There had been an accident involving a friend's brother-in-law who was most likely not going to make it through the night, there was a man who would not be going home to his wife and children again.

As I fumbled around attempting to explain death to my little ones, wondering if I should even be broaching the subject to begin with, my son asked me what was going to happen to the man.

"Well," I began, "he's going to go to and be with Jesus."

My son propped himself up on his elbow and looked at me curiously.

"So what's the bad news?" he asked.

I answered quickly, something about how it's not sad for him, but for his wife and children,something about loss and grieving. Then I prayed and kissed them goodnight and went to the kitchen to busy my hands and mind with something else.

Stirring a bowl of melted chocolate, his question rose up in my thoughts. What's the bad news? Before I could start muttering to myself the same stream of answers, the wife without a hand to hold, the children without a father, the moments of tears and grief that are surely to come for this family, my heart was quieted.

What is the bad news?

Praise God for His faithfulness. Praise Him for hope in this life and joy in the next - and for speaking to my heart from the lips of a five year old boy in the glow of a flickering night light.

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