Quote of the day - Was it good?

For Christmas, the girls got The Story of Jesus for Children DVD. It is excellent, narrating the Christ story from a few children's viewpoints. Tonight it was on in the van on the way home from the gym.

We were going through the passion.

The girls watched wide-eyed, tight-lipped. The twins had questions, which Brielle tried to hush so she could hear the movie. I gave her the Daddy version of "Suffer the little sisters and forbid them not--questions about this shocking story are a very good thing, Miss Brielle."

Melía asked this one:

"Daddy, was it good that Jesus died?"

How would you answer that one?

Nothing about the scene on the tiny LCD screen was appealing or good. The sounds surrounding us were horrifying.

Yet nightly we praise Brielle when she includes, "Thank you for dying on the cross" in her bedtime prayer. It's called "Good Friday," isn't it?

But could I honestly answer that the corrupt trial, torture and execution of a perfect man was "good"? It brought me back to the gore and grimness of holy communion this weekend. "What kind of a sick religion is Daddy teaching me?" my daughters must be asking.

How far should I go to help it make sense? How much mystery should I let ferment in their minds? How many of my answers should I lay on them, and how many should I help them work out on their own? How much of what I'd like to tell her is just more than she can handle right now?

How much do I myself actually know about this? Grappling with Melía's question, I'm thinking I often overestimate how much I know.

And realizing that is definitely good.

Quote of the day - What did you learn?

Tuesday nights a buddy or two and I hang out at a coffee shop to catch up, read a few verses from Matthew and pray for each other. Sometimes I get home in time to hug and kiss daughters before they crash. Melía is always one of these non-sleeping beauties awake to greet me after Bible study.

"Daddy!" she squealed when through her cracked door she saw me walk down the hall.

I plopped on her bed, squeezed her tight, kissed her hair, and said, "I love you so much, Melía."

She asked:

"Daddy, what did you learn about Jesus tonight?"

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

"That's what Mommy told me, that you were learning on Jesus."

I only got a short ways into my response about the greatest commandments in Matthew 23, how the first was to love God with all my heart and soul and strength, and the second is to love my neighbor as myself.

But sitting there looking into those big blue eyes staring out from under those self-cut bangs, I think I felt--if but for a second--how good that twofold command can feel to live out.

Quote of the day - I lied

Yesterday we celebrated Three Kings Day (Día de los Reyes Magos) Mexican style. The girls put their shoes under their beds and woke up to find them full of stocking stuffers, courtesy of the wise men.

But it had been no small task convincing Ashlyn to do this strange non-Anglo Christmas custom.

"No! I DON'T WANT my shoes under there! That won't WORK!" she had shrieked the night before when I kept sticking her red kicks just below her bedskirt.

But I snuck them back under after she fell asleep, and she woke up in the morning, delighted to find her goodies there.

"I lied. You were right, Daddy."

She smiled and laughed at herself.

It was beautiful. I have nothing to say to improve on the sound of those lovely words. I just wanted some virtual witnesses that one day in her life, she uttered them.

Will you back me up?

Quote of the day - Bread for real life

Yesterday at church we had communion. Our kids had eaten the bread and drunk the grape juice before, but it seemed like Ashlyn got it at a new level this time.

With Rachelle, Melía and Brielle in the mother's room, I had the rare privilege of one-to-one time with her during the whole service. It gave me time to explain things as we ate and drank. (Usually at that point I'm doing damage control on spillage and wishing the carpet were a darker, purpler shade.)

In the car that afternoon, out of the blue, Ashlyn reminded us:

"The grape juice is blood--for pretend. And for real life, the bread is bread. But for pretend, it's Jesus'...Jesus'...body."

What a strange religion she must think her parents are raising her in. One week we're celebrating a baby's birth, and the next we're eating His body and drinking His blood.

Hardly G-rated stuff--even for grown-ups.

Tons of Jesus' original listeners were so weirded out by this concept that they abandoned ship (John 6:53-68). Maybe I should be worried these gory symbols might scare off my little ones too. Being a cannibalistic apprentice of such a bizarre and demanding Teacher could be downright frightening.

Maybe that should disturb me.

But more than any of that, I hope such an early acquaintance with this ritual will not spoil the scandal of what God did for her. I hope the realism of His brokenness never ceases to jar her. I pray the depth of His descent, His passion to be closer to her than food is to her tummy--never seem normal.

I hope this sort of pretending disturbs her--for real life.

Quote of the day - In your eyes

Brielle had just had a typically brilliant conversation with me. She was on the couch, hopping around. I was on the chair-and-a-half, moved and inspired.

Through my glasses, I looked hard at her. "Brielle, I like talking with you," I said. "You are a very good listener, and you say very interesting things and ask very good questions and are curious. When you get older, will you still sit down and talk with me? Maybe we can just sit down with a cup of tea and talk? Because you are one of my very favorite people to talk to."

"OK," she said. She'd turned around and begun to gaze into my eyes, beatific, amused and smiling. I thought for sure this little speech had hit home.

I was having a moment. (One too many screenings of Mamma Mia in my house this Christmas, probably.)

And then she said:

"I can see myself in your eyes. Whoever is looking at you can see yourself--can see themself--in your eyes."

Naturally, while I was high on my moment of heart connection with my firstborn, she was entertaining herself checking out her reflection in my glasses.

Any teacher knows the feeling. You're on a roll, breaking it down to receptive little souls in ways that nearly bring a quiver to your voice. You expect an "Amen" any second now. A hand goes up. It must be the profound question you'd hoped to inspire. The child asks, "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Her non sequitur got me thinking, nonetheless. Its implications left me asking myself a lot of questions at least as important as, "Can I use the john?" Like these:

• When she looks at me, how well am I doing at communicating an image of her anything like what God sees when He looks at her?
• How are the lenses I've crafted to see my world enhancing or distorting the world she sees, especially the world within herself?
• When was the last time I looked into my Heavenly Father's eyes to see a truer reflection of who I really am?
• How will I train her to value this heavenly reflection, this divine self-image, this God's-eye-view of her--above all others?

Quote of the day - Not cool

I was just helping Melía dismount safely from her somersault over my knee. I wasn't sure exactly what she was up to, but our little gymnast is often wiggling around our laps and legs and shoulders, and I thought I'd help her land without breaking her neck this time. It seemed the prudent thing to do.

She squinched up her brow and let me know what she thought.

"Daddy, I was doing someping coo'. And then you did someping with me and it was not coo' anymore."

I'm sure this was the first of many such utterances from Melía, although she will probably learn to distill the sentiment into something more elegant. I could hear her saying, "I love you. And please butt out."

"Lame, Daddy," would work.

When words just don't do her feelings justice, the ever popular "Whatever!" finger symbol may serve.

My question for myself is this: How often do my prudent parental designs disrupt the genuine coolness of what my kid is up to? In the dance between childlike playfulness and fatherly purpose, how wont am I to step on the toes of the kids whom God sent to teach me as much as I them?

And turning it vertical, how often is God up to something really cool when I grab hold of things and help them land in a way that's more safe and sane--and lame? In a way that ensures my comfort--secure within the bell curve--but a way that calls for no faith, no risk, no grace?

Quote of the day - No map

Today the girls' role play of choice was some sort of quest for the throne of God. I didn't overhear enough to know if they were playing angels, fallen angels or something more far-fetched for them--like mortals. But I did overhear this admonition from Brielle:

"There is no map to heaven."

One of the younger twins must have asked for one. How she received the news that no such document existed, I'm not sure.

I'm not sure how I receive it myself.

Some days when I don' t trust myself to follow well, I wish there were something more concrete to guide me to glory, maybe even a GPS set for things eternal. I'd like Google to spit out a tidy map with mileage down to the foot and timing down to the minute.

But most days, I kind of like it. The absence of a map to heaven intrigues me, piques my curiosity, brings me to my knees in wonder, primes me for mystery. Without a map, I know I've got to stay in touch with the Guide.

How does it strike you?