Timothy Pleads with God

This morning Timothy crawling into my my bed to snuggle just before 6:00 because he could hear a noise in his room.  While laying there, he confided, "I prayed to God and asked him not to let me die until after we get back from Disney."

I reassured him that he would most likely be fine.  There's something very disturbing about listening to a five year old talk about his own mortality.  I always thought Timothy's biggest concern was that nobody play with his toys when he has to use the bathroom.  I don't want him to think about dying, at least not for a few more years.

I thought about old Simeon, who was promised the time he would lay eyes on his messiah.  When that time actually came, he took that child in his arms and praised God.  I envisioned Timothy on the airplane in sunny Florida as we taxi away  from the terminal lifting his eyes and his hands to the heavens and praying, "Oh Lord, let your servant depart in peace according to your word. For my eyes have seen my salvation that you have prepared for me in the magical world of Disney!"

My runaway thoughts were interrupted by my reflective son. "When I die, I wonder who the smartest person in the family will be."

"We have a lot of smart people in this family, Timothy," I reminded him.

"I know.  But nobody's as smart as me," he humbly admitted.

Perhaps he's right!