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My daughter’s delima (as it turns out) was rooted in her belief that the Bible explicitly commands us to dress our best when we go to church.  So I posed the following question to my wife . . .

Why are we to dress our best when we go to church?

Her reply . . .

“Our bodies are God’s temple.  We should treat them accordingly.  This also means dressing our best and being holy before God.”

To which I offered . . .

“But John the Baptist was holy, and he looked like crap.”

Her [final] response:

“Yes. But I’m not John the Baptist’s mother.”

Next Sunday, I guess we’re all wearing a dress to church.

If you happened upon this blog because you were searching for bad things on Google, sorry.  Nothing to see here other than a few fun shots of my daughter and her birthday present, an American Girl bath set, compliments of Gigi. (click the picture for a few more pix, including Logan facing the reality that he can’t fit in that tub.)

When I was younger, I dreamed of many things.   I wanted to fly, for example.  I wanted to own a hardware store, play major league baseball, and be an architect.  When I was a teenager, I dreamed of other things.  I wanted to be cool. (Yes, just a dream).  I wanted to own a record company.  And (perhaps in one of my more testosterone-driven moments) I dreamed of the day when I would see a girl taking a bubble bath in my living room. 

Not exactly what I had in mind . . . but much more wholesome.  Isn’t it funny how things work out.

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But along with the smells of holiday goodness was an air of tension.  The baby was crying, dishes were clinking, and the kitchen was generally a flurry of activity.  My wife was dutifully trying to tend to the needs of my family, making this, serving that, and all with a smile.  But I could see the frustration in her eyes.  The pressures of having company, making breakfast with someone else cooking in her kitchen, and dealing with all the hustle and bustle of loud . . . very loud children were all catching up with her.

Now, my wife is a great cook.  She is especially good with homemade biscuits.  With just a little flour and milk and (well, I’m not sure what else goes in there)  she can produce fluffy goodness that could make Billy Bob Thornton lay down his mustard.  Hmmmmm.  Alright then.

She’s also great with gravy.  White, thick, and yum yum good.  But I could tell this wasn’t her gravy.  It was still good.   But it was more like “Mamaw-used-to-make-it” good.  So I asked, and sure enough.  My grandmother had insisted on making the gravy.  I sensed that perhaps my wife was a little disappointed at not having the chance to prove her gravy savvy.

Knowing that she would also have been anxious about her biscuits, I decided to put her anxieties to rest.  After all, I’m just that kind of guy. 

“Wow, honey.  These are absolutely the BEST biscuits you’ve ever made!”

There was an instant hush around the table. Clearly, everyone else knew something that I did not. After sharing unnerving glances with everyone around me, I said as intelligently as possible, “What?”

God bless my mother for the saint she is.  She still takes care of me, after all these years.  But sometimes even she can’t save me from myself.  With a gentle touch and an almost silent whisper, she shared with me what I really wish I had known five seconds before.

“They’re frozen biscuits.”

Oh, I see.  My wife hung her head.  My oldest daughter giggled under her breath.  My grandmother looked at me like the goofus I was.  And my grandfather just prayed for me in his own way.  As for me, I said the only thing I could have said in a moment such as this.

“Well, pass the biscuits.”

I think I’m on the naughty list.  Nonetheless . . .

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Her reason?  “I was shopping.”

She was eventually asked to leave the store, but (get this) only after she paid for all her merchandise.  How much can you buy in a three-day Walmart shopping spree. 

Darlene?

From July 2007:

Remember Vacation Bible School?  Remember those hot summer days squirming in the pew sporting a Kool Aid mustache?  Remember counting light fixtures while the preacher droned out Bible stories and took up money?  (Yes, even then).  Ah, those were the days.  How much we learned!  The Pledge of Allegiance, The Christian Pledge, the Pledge to the Bible, the Pledge to Bear Bryant . . . ok, maybe that was just an Alabama thing. 

Even now, some 25 years later, I am still taking my children to Vacation Bible School.  And while the music is louder, the games are cooler, and most kids are walking around with iPods, some things have remained solidly the same.  The Bible is still “God’s Holy Word.”  Jesus is still offering everlasting life. And prayer changes things.  Which brings me to the real subject of this post, my daughter.   

At eight*, she is my oldest.  She accepted Christ at the early age of five, which was young I thought.  But she was precocious and clearly understood fully what she was doing.  Since then, she has epitomized child-like faith for my wife and me.  Her commitment to Jesus is pure and profound. She is an inspiration.

Today, she discretely pulled me aside and asked that I pray specifically for her younger (five year old) sister.  “Today,” she said, “is a very special day.”  Of course I pressed for further clarification (I am Baptist, after all and find it much easier to pray for people when I have ALL the juicy details).  She would not offer more, but just insisted that I pray for her sister.  Then, as a parting note, offered this one small clue.

“Our theme verse today is Romans 10:9.”  With that, she hurried to her class.

While you might not find the reference familiar, those of you who are believers will no doubt recognize the verse:

“That if you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” Romans 10:9 (NIV)

It suddenly occurred to me that my daughter was praying for her sister’s salvation.  She was also enlisting me to do the same.  My eight year old daughter saw the spiritual potential in the message her sister would hear that day.  She also remembered her own experiences as a five year old.  Therefore, she invoked the most powerful tool any of us carry as a Christian, prayer.

I began praying for my children before they were born.  But I was not prepared emotionally for the reality that they would one day grow up to pray for one another.  I am confident God will answer my daughter’s prayers.  I am confident that in her own time, my youngest daughter will no doubt come to depend on God’s saving grace as much as the rest of us.  But I am humbled at the faithfulness of my child and her unconditional commitment to prayer for the salvation of her sister.

*McKenzie is now nine years old.  She is still strong in her faith, and she still prays for her sister.

** Photo by Jadie Thomas, Jadie Thomas Photography

Even when dwarfed by ridiculously large chairs however, my kids do continue to grow up.  I’ve stated before that they are all smarter than me.  They continue to prove this. 

The other day, I was driving them to school.  The girls were in the backseat, my nine-year-old helping my almost six-year-old to read a book.  Something about war and peace, but I can’t remember exactly.  (Just kidding.)  In reality, it was about a princess who wouldn’t stop crying.  (Now this, I thought, is a book to which I can relate).

As my daughter struggled to read the word “sobbed,” I asked her to sound out the consonants.  I explained to her that instead of getting hung up on which “O” sound she should use, she might try saying the word with the other letters and seeing if it sounded familiar.  I frankly thought this was a brilliant approach.  So I decided to take it for a spin.

“Hey RileyGrace, right now I am D-R-I-V-I-N-G. Now what am I doing?”

“Ummm, spelling a word?”

Need I say more.  Honey, the kids have S-H-R-U-N-K my brain!!!!

http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=13a4a045cd290bc2ae2d

It’s about 6 minutes and 30 seconds.  And well worth your time.