We walked in the door from the evening service and quickly turned on the TV to catch "The Ten Commandments" —just in time to see the dramatic parting of the waters.  "Daddy, what is that?" asked our four-year-old, Debbie. "That's the crossing of the Red Sea . God divided the water so the people of Israel could walk to the other side," I explained.  Debbie, however, wasn't so sure I was right. "That's not the Red Sea . Those waters are blue!"  

During a children's sermon one Sunday morning, I held up an ugly-looking summer shirt that I wore occasionally around the house.  I explained to the children that someone said the shirt was ugly and should be thrown away. "This really hurt me," I explained. "I'm having trouble forgiving the person who said those mean things. Do you think I should forgive that person?" I asked the children.  Immediately, my six-year-old daughter, Alicia, raised her hand. "Yes, you should," she said without hesitation.  "But why? The person hurt my feelings," I responded.  To which Alicia wisely answered, "Because you're married to her."   

My two-year-old son, Ben, learned about Moses at a Bible study he attended with me. The day after he heard the story about Moses' mother putting him in a basket and hiding him in the reeds along the river bank, I quizzed Ben about the story.  "Where did baby Moses' mother put him?" I asked.   Ben, an avid sports fan, replied, "In a basketball hoop."   

Our eight-year-old, Jessiah, proved himself to be a true pastor's son during his first 4-H judging experience.  Noticing that the nose cone was missing from Jessiah's rocket project, the judge asked why. "I tried different plastic animals for the payload, but their pointy legs kept getting jammed in the rocket," Jessiah explained. "Then I found the perfect weight—a molded plastic baby Jesus."  "But what happened to the nose cone?"   "Well," Jessiah continued, "when I set the rocket off in a field, Jesus and the nose cone both flew off. I never found them."  "So," the judge said with a smile, "Jesus went up to heaven?"

"No," Jessiah said, "It was more like he came down to earth as a baby." 

Our three young daughters take turns asking the blessing before dinner. We've taught them some simple table graces but also encourage "free form" prayer. Our campaign for individual expression made us smile one evening when our three-year-old, Erin, stared briefly at her plate, bowed her head, and prayed, "Dear Lord, I don't like this stuff. Amen."   

Pointing to the letters "YHWH," on the blackboard, our pastor asked the children, "Why can't we pronounce God's name?"   The obvious answer—no vowels—seemed to be lost on the younger ones. But my nine-year-old daughter, Candace, offered this reasonable explanation. "Because we're not Israelites?"   

We were trying to help Lynna, my five-year-old granddaughter, break the habit of sticking everything in her mouth. Our efforts paid off in an unrelated way when Lynna came down with chicken pox.   Staying with Lynna while her parents worked, I was trying to comfort her with a big long hug. "Now where did my little angel pick up the chicken pox?" I asked.   "I don't know, Momo," she whimpered, "but I promise, I don't think I ate 'em."    

The Trinity's Sweet Spot
One Sunday afternoon, my five-year-old, Elizabeth , showed me a ring with three parts to it. I asked her what it meant.  "It means the Trinity, Dad," she said.

"And what is the Trinity?" I asked.  She pointed to each of the three parts and said, "This is God the Father. This is God the Son. And this is God the Holy Syrup!"      

My Mother the Adulteress
My young daughter stunned me one Sunday on the way home from church when she blurted, "I told my Sunday school teacher that you are an adulteress."

When I could breathe again, I said, "Why would you say that?"  "Because you are!"  I took another breath and asked for some clarification, "Do you know what adulteress means?"  Squaring her shoulders, she said proudly, "I figured it out all by myself. It means, 'female adult.'"  When I met her Sunday school teacher again, I told her, "I won't believe what my daughter tells me about you if you don't believe what she says about me."   

Pssst! Did Ya Hear the One About …
I was teaching Sunday school, and I asked the kids to look up passages in the books of Mark and John. They were having trouble finding the books, so I gave them a quick refresher: "The New Testament starts with Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. These books are referred to as The Four …"  I paused, waiting to see if any of them could fill in the blank. My 10-year-old son, Benjamin, was up to the task.  "They're called The Four Gossips!" 

Dinner is Over!

When my youngest sister Dorothy and her boyfriend Sonny, both 19 years old, decided they wanted to get married, they approached my no-nonsense father with the news.  "You're mighty young to be taking on a family," he said to my future brother-in-law.  "But I don't want the whole family," protested Sonny. "I just want to marry Dorothy."   

My farmer husband Larry isn't a good bachelor. So whenever I'm gone over noon, I set the table and leave dinner in the oven.  That was the case when I accepted a lunch invitation with former coworkers. I made sure everything was taken care of for Larry, including a scribbled note saying, "Dinner in oven."

Returning at 4 p.m., I waved at Larry working outside, but he didn't wave back. Guess he's had a bad day, I thought.  In the kitchen, the plot thickened. There were no dirty dishes, and the casserole was still in the oven. Only a sandwich that I intended to throw away was missing from the refrigerator.  When Larry came in, I asked, "What'd you have for dinner?"  Silence.  "Did you get my note?"  "Sure did," he replied gruffly. "It said, 'Dinner is over!'"  I now proofread all my notes.   

Learning Japanese for the mission field was no easy task.  A fellow student invited to a Japanese family's home asked our teacher what gift he should bring. The answer sounded like "shoe cream."  "Shoe cream?" he questioned. "Is that enough?"  "Take five or six," the teacher replied.  My friend went to the shoe store, bought six jars, and gave them to his mystified hostess. Imagine the student's chagrin and our laughter when a veteran missionary set the record straight—the teacher meant shu cream, delicious cakes filled with whipped cream! 

Mixed Signals

The mother of a friend of mine didn't learn to drive a car until she was sixty years old. Newly licensed, she invited her middle-aged son to go for a ride.   My friend held his tongue over some minor infractions but was completely appalled when his mother made a left-hand turn at a busy intersection without signaling.

"Mother," he asked impatiently, "why didn't you use your turn signal?"   Her innocent reply: "You mean I'm supposed to use them in the daytime, too?"

I'm the proud father of six children. One day while playing with my calculator's universal calendar, I decided to find out on which day of the week each of our children was born. The results surprised me: one was born on Monday, one on Tuesday, one on Wednesday, another on Thursday, one on Friday, and one more on Saturday.   Inspired, I excitedly showed my wife, Sue, the results. "Let's go for Sunday!" I said hopefully.   "Nothing doing," she replied, shaking her finger. "Sunday is a day of rest."   

While working in an information center that serves members of Congress, I overheard a fellow employee say cheerfully to another, "Good morning! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"   The young Senate staffer, puzzled and unaccustomed to this type of greeting, replied, "Ah … thank you, but I come in the name of Senator Lugar."   

One Sunday our pastor's sermon dealt with the different types of people we encounter daily—VDP (Very Draining Persons), VNP (Very Neutral Persons), and VIP (Very Important Persons).   During coffee hour, my husband, John, and I were telling a friend about John's tonsillectomy.   "Was he a VDP?" my friend asked.   I thought for a moment, then quipped, "No, actually he was a VBB." She nodded in understanding, "Oh, Very Big Baby."