Ian was snuggled next to me during our pastor’s Father’s Day sermon, drawing on the bulletin because I wouldn’t let him use a collection envelope. He was using the open Bible on my knee as a table.
Suddenly, with an over-zealous flourish, the tip of the pencil strayed from bulletin to Proverbs and a small, gray arc ran through verses four, five, and six. He gasped and his hand froze. His eyes were trembling as he looked at me with fear, horrified at his desecration.
God isn’t much for lightning bolts, but Ian wouldn’t have been surprised.
I managed not to laugh. I whispered into his ear, ‘It’s okay, honey. You didn’t do it on purpose.’
He retreated to Kelly’s side. He shook his head and whispered, ‘It’s the Word of God.’
I explained that the Word of God is more than a book, and is stronger than a pencil. That he didn’t write through the Word, only across a page.
He didn’t buy it, and buried himself further into Mommy’s arms.