Sunday mornings are tough. Somewhere between the struggle to put down the trains and put on church clothes, the two of us have successfully broken the first five commandments, and finally show up for church with our angry eyes. I'm sure most parents have heard the same complaints: There's nothing for me to do at church. Church takes too long. Church isn't fun. I don't want to think about Jesus, I want to think about trains!
Imagine my surprise then, on Tuesday morning, when my child starts proclaiming the truth about church.
"God doesn't give us too many gifts at church. He just gives us a few. He gives us his Word."
"But what does His Word produce?"
"And what does faith give us?"
"Life and salvation. But that's only two gifts."
"But they are very valuable gifts."
"And no one can steal them from us. And these are the gifts we should rejoice. And if anyone came to my house to try to steal them, I would say, 'Sorry, Jesus died for me and saved me from my sin.'"
So there it is. The sound of a Sunday morning coming down might seem awful lonesome to me, and the congregation may be sick of our angry eyes, but my child's faith is growing, despite his stubborn sinful nature.