This week the kids are participating in a vacation Bible school program. They go for two an a half hours a day and horse around with their friends under the pretense that they are learning religious verses. (I don’t think they have really absorbed anything other than “Did you know so-an-so has a sprinkler and a DS?!” but I am keeping an open mind.
On the first evening, I came a little early to pick them up so I could watch them. They were sitting with two dozen other squirmy children in the little sanctuary, listening to a puppet show. I was praising God that they were all still sitting and nothing was on fire.
But, Robert saw me and came tearing to the back where I was to tell me about his day in an animated whisper that got progressively louder. By the time the group leader had started a quiet prayer, Robert was speaking in a full shout.
“NOW WE HAVE TO GO HOME BECAUSE I HAVE TO POOP,” announced Robert to the now-silent church full of parents and children and pastors and GOD.
As we retreated from the church, I turned to my husband. “You know, honestly, that went better than expected.”
He agreed completely.