“Mommy, I have a problem.”
I straightened up as I pulled one more weed from our overgrown backyard. Jack and I were outside, I was weeding, he was running back and forth along our sidewalk. “Problem” was a new word for Jack.
“What’s your problem, Sweetie?”
“It’s about Jesus.”
“Yeah. He died for me.”
Ah, I don’t think this little boy knows what problem means, except maybe he’s contemplating one of the divine mysteries.
“Yes he did. He died so you could be forgiven.”
“Yeah. There was a tree and he came to my house.” (Now he’s talking about the story of Zacheus) “And a fish ate him!” He says giggling.
Well, it’s clear that Jack’s getting his Bible stories crossed, but there was nothing more thrilling for me than to hear him say last week that Jesus died for him. He sings “his songs” (His favorites are Deep and Wide and I’ve got the Joy Joy Joy Joy Down in my Heart), prays at night and before meals (Dear Jesus *whisper whisper whisper whisper whisper…* Amen), but this is the first deep conversation we’d ever had about what Jesus did for him.
Today, I am sitting in Tim’s shop and I look up to see this on Jack’s chalkboard. He must have drawn it on Friday the last time we were here:
Jesus is on this little boy’s heart. I pray he let’s him in.