Last night Dorothy was in a talkative mood, trying to forestall bedtime. Lately, nightmares seem to wait for her to close her eyes, so dark and the solitude and sleep it brings have been a source of anxiety. We've had some fantastic conversations while we wait for the dark to lose it's menace. But sometimes, I'm so tired and I drop a Pooh disk into the player and let her drain herself of fear while listening to Peter Dennis spin a favorite yarn, but I'm so glad that last night wasn't one of those nights, tired as I was.
Dorothy: Grammy was eight when her mom became a Christian, then told her children about God. And Jesus.
Me: Yes, seven or eight.
Dorothy: So Meemaw's mommy and daddy weren't Christians?
Me: I don't know. They died when Meemaw was a little girl, so I don't know if they were or not, but I know that the relatives that she lived with afterwards never told her of God. At least not so that it made a deep impression.
Dorothy: What's that mean?
Me: Means that Meemaw didn't know of God and Jesus in a way that meant something to her until she was an adult.
Dorothy: But Meemaw knows? She's in heaven now?
Dorothy: But if she hadn't known, then she couldn't have taught Goo (my mother).
Me: I suppose.
Dorothy: And if she hadn't taught Goo, then Goo wouldn't have known, and she wouldn't have taught you.
Me: Well, it's possible someone else may have taught Grammy, and it's possible someone else may have taught Goo, but we'll never know because it happened the way it happened.
Dorothy: But if Goo hadn't taught you, then you wouldn't have known, and you couldn't have . . .
Her voice trailed off, and her eyes became moist. She couldn't even voice that most terrible of thoughts. That my child, at six, can appreciate the knowledge of God and his gift of redemption, and is pained by the thought of living without this gift, that to me is the most rewarding part of motherhood. When we are sitting on the couch, working on scripture, or talking about those grand (and sometimes difficult to comprehend) aspects of God, it's hard for me to see the fruit, especially when my eye is on the clock and Dorothy is distracted.
But sometimes, God allows me to see what he is doing, how he is preparing my children, and I am in awe.
God is at work, enlivening the soul of my child.
And I am so blessed to be a witness to so sacred a moment as this.