a little prayer

I worry sometimes that Lizzy isn't getting enough, hm, 'spiritual guidance' from me. That she could not recite a single Bible story at almost age 4. Well, maybe she sort of could. She knows that Jonah (whoever he is) was inside a whale for some reason, and that Daniel goes with lions. God is everywhere, and He loves us, and Jesus is someone we pray to (as well as God). So that's something, I guess.

In a bit of a digression from my main point, I've been pondering this a bit more lately because there's been some in-church discussion (unofficially, over e-mail -- we don't do this via round table on Sunday morning, or anything) recently because we've had a new convert -- praise God! -- and we're wondering whether we need to provide anything in the way of instruction for her in addition to the usual fare. Some are in favor of this, yet opinions differ slightly as to how and what the (education? discussion? Bible study? book group?) addition should look like. Some seem offended by the notion that we change the way we do things to, uh, serve the needs of our congregation? Okay, I don't really understand their perspective, which tells you where I'm at. I start applying this to the growing crop of kids we have at Common Table, and I start wondering how instrumental my years growing up in the Methodist Sunday school were. Were they? Weren't they? I don't know. I'd certainly take being raised by God-fearing and loving parents over simply learning Bible stories for an hour a week, if I did have to choose. (fortunately, I had both.)

Anyhow. I figure at this point, the least I can do is try to model Jesus-like behavior (ha! I have some work to do), and pray with Lizzy each night. Imbue her with a sense of who God is, and that He cares about us -- the big things and the little.

Her perspective on it all has been revealing itself in interesting ways. Earlier this week, Lizzy was on the tail end (ha!) of a bladder infection. I took her to school anyway, since we were almost at the end of her meds, and I figured she was mostly, if not all, better. I conveniently chose to forget about the peeing of the pants that occurred the day before, at a local pumpkin patch. Though the image of her skirted, pantyless form shimmying down the slide one fateful time -- skirt sliding above her waist, if you're slow to get the picture here -- is burned on my brain.
So I dropped her off at school, and waited while she 'went potty.' As she sat on the cute little 3-year-old-sized toilet, she said, "Mommy? Let's pretend you and I are going to bed, and pray Jesus." I said, uhhh, okay. Do you want to, or me? She wanted to. So she did. She prayed that God would make her bottom all better. "In Jesus' name, Amen!" My heart swelled with pride like I cannot describe. That she made the connection to spontaneously pray when she needed help with something... It made me glad. (obviously, I want her to see God as a whole lot more than her Santa Claus in the sky, but one thing at a time.)

A 'fun' element of raising a child in the 'learning-to-talk' stage is something I've mentioned before -- the need to teach them, somehow, that not all that they hear is appropriate for them to say. Either because it's 'not nice to someone,' or because it's inappropriate at the moment, or because it's just plain something I don't want hearing come out of my child's mouth. Let me say here and now that I'm not trying to censor anyone's speech, so please, dear friends, don't feel that you can't use certain words or phrases around me. (except you, Ryan. You can keep it toned down. I appreciate it. Thanks.) That said, I don't want Lizzy saying everything she hears. One that's been an off-and-on struggle to explain to her is "Oh my God." Something I hear a lot. Something I don't want to hear coming from my 3 or 4-year-old's mouth.

I've explained that that's God's name. That it makes no sense to say God's name, unless you're talking about, or to, God. (I've heard the rejoinder that, in essence, when people say that, they ARE praying. But I'm not so sure I buy that, at least not much of the time.) So, I say to Lizzy, let's save God's name for those occasions. Okay, she says seriously. Okay.
One day, her day care teacher pulled me aside and told me that Lizzy had lectured her on this point. I was rather mortified, but what are you going to do? Ms. Sharline genuinely seemed to think it was rather sweet. Oooookay.

A couple of nights ago, Lizzy was saying her bedtime prayers. She did the usual, "DearGod, thank you for this family/thank you for this prayer/thank you for all of our friends/(and then she goes on to list, if it's mealtime, thanks for each item on the table or on the menu. If it's bedtime, it can end there, or she throws in whatever occurs to her. Her school, her pony tails, her new book. Whatever.)" This time, she concluded with, "Oh my God. Amen." She kind of peeked at me with one eye open, then opened them both and beamed at me. "Did you hear what I said?" she demanded. "I was talking to God, so I said 'Oh my God'."

Sigh. I can see the logic, but ...