My children woke me to pray this morning at 5:45 a.m.
Actually, they woke me playing Legos and making the range of dramatic voices and sound effects that are, apparently, part of early morning Lego play. But then I pleaded with them to go back to sleep, and they tried to comply, in a form of meditative semi-quiet, for at least five minutes, after which I prayed a great deal.
I am happy to report they are all still living. And people think prayers aren’t efficacious.
I understand that this revelation — that sometimes children can inflict a kind of torture that would make the ACLU register protest — runs somewhat counter to my latest essay for Image (which now has space at Patheos, a sort of all-things-about-faith site that no doubt gives Reformed types oodles of material for sermonizing and reprobate-spotting), but then life and faith are full of polar opposites that must be managed gracefully, no?
