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The Little Boy Who Goes To Church
by Bonnie MeyerRosa
Our family goes to church every Sunday. I am a Sunday School teacher, sing on the worship team, head up the children's summer program and was the church secretary for a while. I've been going to the same church since I was five. You could say I am pretty "religious" even though I hate that word.
Many would say that I lead a double life. Let's just say that I play "the good little church girl" very well and leave it at that.
My children go to church with me every Sunday (even though Daddy stays home) and they really seem to enjoy it. PJ loves to tell all the Bible stories and knows most of them pretty well. He also goes to a church based Kindergarten so he is learning more Bible stories every day. I love listening to him tell the stories and especially enjoy his versions of them.
For instance, David and Goliath. David has his name changed to "the little dude" and the Giant is "that big mean guy." Noah turns into "that old boat man." Jonah was swallowed by a dinosaur, Samson had long hair on his legs, and when God created the world he also made monster trucks. I love that he is learning these stories and usually don't correct him. Hey, he knows them better than most so why should I change how he remembers it?
That theory worked until just the other day. We were driving through the neighborhood looking at Christmas lights. One of our neighbors has a huge blow up nativity scene on their front lawn. We stopped to look at it for a minute, along with the giant Santa and Grinch.
"So, that's that little brat in the swaddling clothes?"
Um, did my son just call the son of God a little brat? I don't remember Matthew, Mark, Luke or John referring to Him as "that little brat."
I turn around and he is cracking up. He sure does crack himself up a lot.
"PJ, we don't call Jesus ‘that little brat,' thank you."
He replies with, "I know mom, but that's what you call us."
"Yeah PJ, but you sure aren't the Son of God are you?"
That night PJ asked to say grace before dinner. He thanked God for the food, our house, asked for help for his friend's Dad who is in jail, his other friend's Dad who fell off the roof putting up lights, his friend's dog who has bad poops, his own dad who "is old and drunk" (I don't know where that came from and I glance over he is seeing if Dad is paying attention - Dad has already started eating), and then thanks God for "Jesus who LIED on the cross for us."
Holy shit. he just said that Jesus lied on the cross instead of died on the cross. I look at Dad for help with this one.
Dad says, "Whatever. Can we just eat please?"
OK, we'll let this one go - this time.
Enjoy your holidays everyone! I'll be back after Christmas with a story about traveling over the holidays with a 5 year old, a 2 year old, a grumpy husband and 2 year old insane black lab. Should be fun!
Bonnie is looking forward to PJ's interpretations of classic literature