Something I was thinking

“Dear Lord, Thank you for the food that Jesus gives us and thank you for all the other people in the world. Amen.” How simplistic and primitive her prayer is. She’s obviously the one I call on to pray at the dinner table when I’m hungry or impatient.

Maybe when she gets older I’ll have the opportunity to teach her how to really pray. The theologian in me will teach her that it is probably best not to single out Jesus as the sole aspect of the trinity that provides for our needs. If she is going to be biblical, she needs to learn that Jesus thanked the Heavenly Father for our daily bread, so certainly we should follow His example by thanking the Father rather than the Son.

I will teach her that God doesn’t really give us the food directly, but indirectly. While she should thank Him for the food, she also should remember to thank Him for our capacity to work hard to receive the pay that purchases the food. (Let’s not forget good ‘ole dad’s role in all this.)

Someday I’ll teach her that when she prays the same prayer every time regardless of the situation, her prayer appears to be coming from the mind instead of the heart. Variety is the spice of life. A little creativity goes a long way. Instead of being so generic with “thank you for all the other people in the world” a few specific names would be helpful. Give details, baby, details.

It would be good for her to learn to add some substance to her words to God. If only her prayers were expositions on the theological truths of justification, sanctification, and glorification they would be significantly more impressive. If all else fails, a few “thee’s” and “thou’s” sporadically thrown in would demonstrate to others the spiritual superiority of her bloodline.

One of these days with my help and a good theological education her prayers will have some weight and fervor. I guess until then I should try hard not to laugh or be embarrassed when she prays. Hopefully, when you sit around the Thanksgiving table and express your gratitude to God, you will have learned from her mistakes.

“Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” Matthew 18:2-5

He notices the contrast between his frail aged hand and the soft youthful one that belongs to his granddaughter. Holding them tightly together, he tells himself that he does it for her safety, but if he were more honest he would admit it was for his own sense of security. She dances with the vulnerability that only a six-year old can give. It’s as if she were atop a music box, lifting his hand overhead and twirling underneath. He walks gingerly due to an old and aching hip but has to skip every now and again just to keep up.

The song in her head is heard in his heart. He wonders what she is thinking but finds the answer in the expression of her dance. He remembers when the dance was his and the music was so innocent and strong, but doubt is now the louder song. For now, he finds satisfaction in walking and watching.

She lets go of his hand to stoop and pick a flower. His heart aches at the cessation of touch. The letting go foreshadows. It’s not the hand he dreads releasing, it is the heart. “Just for you,” she says, handing him a dandelion. What he takes from her is a weed, but what she gave to him is a flower. The dance continues.

A twirl, a spin, a skip, and a hop, what her legs lack in coordination, her heart makes up for with grace. A jump and a misplaced rock, the smile turns to grimace and the dance turns to tears. Many dances end with scraped knees. He kneels at her side, with soothing word and a gentle touch he wipes away her tears. “See what happens when you dance,” but thankfully the words of his mind never make it to his lips. He bends down, takes her hand and gently kisses her knee. A wounded knee never healed so fast. A callused hand never felt so soft.

Deep down he hopes she doesn’t give up the dance as quickly as he did.