Before church tonight, Seth asked me if I thought anyone would get the Holy Ghost. I told him that I sure hoped so, but that if he wanted it, he could get the Holy Ghost himself.
"No," he said, "I'm too little."
"You're not too little Seth," I replied back.
His dad joined in the conversation at this point. "How old do you think you need to be to get the Holy Ghost, Seth?" he asks.
"Oh, about 15," he answers earnestly.
His dad made a statement that I think, in its own way, is profound. Dave has a special way of bringing a subject down to a kids' level of understanding and is much better at it than I am.
"Can you imagine waiting to try ice cream until you were 15, Seth?" he asks.
"No," was Seth's obvious answer.
"Well, the Holy Ghost is so much better than ice cream, Seth. Believe me, you want it as soon as you possibly can, and you don't have to wait until you are 15," was his wise reply.
Seth had no more questions. I'm hopeful that it made him think.
One more quick story about my son.
He was a total goober in church tonight, which is very shocking I know. The problem was that I decided not to sit at the back. The kids are old enough now that they should not misbehave and cause too much distraction, and I wanted to sit closer to my oldest niece so that we could corroborate what song to pick for altar call, since I was in charge of it tonight.
Seth was very delighted with this prospect because it meant, as I was soon to see, that he had a much bigger audience to entertain. He so exasperated me that at one point I turned around to one of my nieces sitting behind me and said that I was going to
kill him, sit him on my lap so that I could gently talk to him about behaviour tonight and beg him not to do that in the future discipline him at home.
The triple toppers for me came when he: a) refused to come to me when I motioned for him to; b) COVERED HIS EARS again so I couldn't talk to him quietly (although he didn't hit me in the face this time, which he needs to thank his lucky stars and GOD for); and c) stuck his little index finger up at me in a sassy motion to quieten me.
He came home, and after his proper ration of
bread and water a bedtime snack, he went to bed without a story. He laid there for at least two hours before he went to sleep because he wasn't tired, so justice was served.
If only he could remember what his dad told him was better than ice cream.