School is over for the day. My big kids are home. My baby boy is up from his nap. We made popcorn on the stovetop and hot chocolate for an after-school snack. Our weekend is surprisingly (and beautifully) empty, so the big kids were sent upstairs to clean their rooms and shower while I clean the kitchen, so that we can spend the rest of the afternoon/evening playing.
And then suddenly, Monkey was back. With a concerned look on his face.
"Mommy... I want to pray for Andrew."
I don't think he could have said anything that could have made me more proud. I didn't know who Andrew is (he knows a couple) or why we suddenly needed to pray, and I didn't care. The answer, of course, was "yes." Let's pray. Right now.
I. love. that. boy.
As it turns out, Andrew is a boy in his class who "can't breathe so good after recess and soccer and stuff"--or as we grown-ups would put it, has asthma.
Here is (roughly) Monkey's prayer: "Dear Lord, I just want to pray for Andrew. Just take away his sickness, Lord. I don't know if you know this, but here's how it works: Your heart beats, and then a second later, you breathe. But that's not how it works for Andrew, God. Please fix it."
OK, so he doesn't have the science down, but I don't think that's going to confuse God.
Thank you, Lord, for his sensitive heart. May he always be so responsive to Your leading.