This morning Luke wanted to say the blessing at breakfast. That's great, I thought.
"For eggs. For Englosh muff'n. For Daddy. For Rachel. For Mommy. For Luke."
"For feet. For chair. For lotion. For Granma-Granpa. For train-track. For yogurt drink."
"For Mommy. For Rachel Ruth. For eggs. For table. For tree. For hair. For [rumbling sound]. For light. For plate. For Luke. For Rachel. For Thomas Tank Engine. For Mommy."
Well, this is sweet, I thought, and he's praying and all, and he's thankful. That's great, but the eggs are getting cold.
"For dinosaur. For egg. For Englosh muff'n. For Daddy coffee. For Mommy. For Luke. For Rachel Ruth. For Rachel Ruth chair. For picture. For train. For lotion. For Jesus. For batteries. For vitamin. For plate. For egg. For Englosh muff'n."
Should I stop him, I wondered. He is praying after all. I shouldn't discourage that or his gratitude. But what about the eggs? You can't be thankful for cold eggs.
"For Mommy. For Thomas Tank Engine. For salt. For . . . "
Mommy to the rescue as she walks into the dining room from the kitchen: "AMEN! GREAT JOB Luke! Jesus liked that prayer!"
What a joy, I thought, a kid you can't stop praying. And the eggs were still warm, too!