As is often the case, we were running late for church today. So as not to disturb the lessons, I took Delton into a side hall and reminded him of the need to be quiet. Of course, as soon as we got into the narthex, he lets out a shout that echoes off the high ceiling into the sanctuary.
I yank him back into the hall, behind closed doors, and set him down on some steps for a time out. After a few crocodile tears, I turn the corner so that he can calm himself down. After a few seconds, I hear him say, “Dear God,” and then mumble something about “my sister.”
I am a bit excited, because this is the first time I’ve ever heard him initiate a prayer, a ritual that we are not very good at keeping regularly. I near the corner, but I am still out of sight as I hear him say:
“And help me because I need to find the bathroom.”
Taking the cue, I walk over to him and ask if his prayer had been answered. “Yeah,” he says, “I heard God’s voice.”
“Oh, and what does he sound like?” I wonder.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Can I go pee now?”