It rarely happens but when it does it’s not pretty. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and that’s not a good thing when you are everybody’s “cheerleader.” On that morning I was in no mood to make anybody happy. We had all been running on empty—but I felt like my tank was the emptiest—and my family should I have recognized that and bent over backwards to pitch in and help me out.
Well, that didn’t happen and all it took was one little thing to push me over the edge and I was madder than a wet hen.
Geeze. What is it about anger—that once you give it an inch it takes a mile and then some. Ever notice that? When I give anger one little toehold in my soul, it doesn’t back down, it takes over until it erupts into downright ugliness. I just hate it. But that’s where I found myself on that particular morning.
Now the hubby and I have a pretty sweet morning ritual. Every morning we drive our one and only adorable grandchild to school. We love the drive! There is nothing like the back roads of Tennessee. From the time we buckle up and pull out of the driveway it’s an adventure that always begins with prayer and ends with seeing who can spot the most animals on the way to school. The competition is fierce.
The grandson loves this morning ritual. We love it too—because we know there is coming day when these morning drives will cease to be and all that remains in the heart of our grandchild will be his memories of the morning drives with Potsy and Minsy and how he learned to pray.
So here’s how it rolls. As soon as we pull out of the driveway, I say “Thank you Jesus for this beautiful new day. Thank you for our Joshua. God, would you help Joshua to be a blessing and not a disruption (yes…he is a rambunctious little boy), and please help him to be kind to all of his teachers and his classmates. Thank you that he’s really good in math and could you help him with his reading? “ And then I pray for his mommy and for his uncle and then for his Potsy and then we all say “Amen.”
But you never really know what’s going on in the mind of a child until you change the routine.
On that morning when I was madder than a wet hen I did not feel like praying. So I didn’t pray. And from the backseat the GRANDboy says, “Minsy, it’s time to pray.” But I did not want to pray—so I just blurted out, as fast as I could, “Thank you Jesus for this day. Thank you for Joshua. Amen.”
And the little one called me out! “Minnnnnsy? Pray!” As if to say, “You know that’s not praying. Now come on it’s time to pray. Get to it!” He was letting me know that he knew that whatever I had just blurted out, was not praying. Imagine that—the child had been listening to every prayer and could discern the difference between the real and not-real. And now the sweetest thing of all—on some mornings he beats me to the punch and begins our morning prayer. Most precious thing I’ve ever heard. Did I mention, I love that I’m his Minsy and he’s my one and only.