He imagines scary monsters and snakes on the wall but he also imagines a whole world where he is the super hero: slaying dragons with magic slime, blasting off in rockets through black holes to wholly edible planets.
#Faith evans you a bad bad boy makes look so good how to#
I love scripture, I love how parents are instructed in Deuteronomy to talk about the Lord “when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” At my house, we talk about Jesus as maker of peanut butter, Jesus as super hero, Jesus as best friend, Jesus as instructor on how to be a friend.īut, mostly, we talk about Jesus at night when my son wiggles under his covers in the dark and imagines. He doesn’t know how to say it yet, but he wants to know how God fits into all this beauty, how God fits into all this brokenness. He’s a scientist by nature and he’s exploring this world with the mind God has stuck inside him. But since that first late-night moment of frustration with God, my boy hasn’t stopped wanting answers and being unsatisfied with the pat ones I give him. I didn’t want it to be complicated for my kids. I know what it is to love and believe deeply in the Lord and, at the same time, scream out to him: “Why are you doing this? Where are you? Do you even exist? Do you love me?” And, amazingly, I know how to move from those questions into communion and take the bread and the wine and beg God to swell inside me, to make me whole.įaith is complicated for me. It was the reality that I knew exactly how he felt. You know what disturbed me most about that moment? It wasn’t my son’s rage, his frustration, his realization that he wanted God to be something more for him. “But I can’t see God!” He screamed, his face red, his fists clinched. Whenever I’m alone, I know that God is there.
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That little chorus about fear? I sang it rich and I leaned over his bed, my fingers moving the hair across his forehead. But sometimes I sing in my kids’ rooms and I know it’s my best work yet. It’s on key but simple and you’ll never hear me with a solo. I sang one of those old Psalty songs from my childhood cassette tapes, What time I am afraid, I will put my trust my trust in thee. My voice is plain. But I promise that God loves you and he’s always protecting you. Don’t worry he’ll never come back.įinally, over the course of weeks, I told him the truth: Honey, I can’t promise that the walrus will never come again. He meant to go to the apartment down the street where his friend lives and he’s really sad that he scared you. Then, I made up a story to explain it all: Oh, I talked to the walrus and he’s super sorry, buddy. A year and a half ago, when my son first dreamed that a walrus (yes, I said a walrus) had entered his closet and rummaged around, I could not make that screaming child feel safe again, no matter what I tried.įirst, I lied about my own power: Look! I have Walrus spray! I’ll just spray your closet and he’ll never want to come back.