I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
December 5, 2008
I am a Christian today largely because of the faith I had as a child. When I was afraid, I still remember the absolute, unfaltering belief I had that God would protect me and watch over me- As polluted as my mind has become in this cynical world, the memory of that feeling of certainty stays with me to this day.
And so it was important to me to give that gift to my children. From the time Punky could talk, we’ve said a prayer together before bed each night, asking God to bless all of our friends and family members. We also say a prayer before dinner each night, and I’ve begun trying to explain to her in the simplest terms I can manage what Christians believe, and why. There will come a time when she’ll decide for herself what she believes, but I hope to give her at least a foundation in one of the great faith traditions of the world, and an inkling that there’s more out there than death and despair.
When my parents and grandmother were visiting for Thanksgiving this past week, we opted to say our prayer in the kitchen, before everyone loaded their plates with food. Punky, who had been playing in another room, came running in after the prayer, outrage plainly visible on her face.
“You said prayers without someone!” she said accusingly. We all giggled sympathetically and I promised Punky that she could say a special prayer for all of us when we were seated. That mollified her, and once we had served ourselves and sat down at the dining room table, she looked at me expectantly.
“Okay, Punky,” I said. “You can say the prayer now.” We all joined hands and I held my breath. This was the first time Punky had ever said her own dinner time prayer, and since she’s been going through a serious case of the four-year-old sillies, I worried that something ridiculously inappropriate would come out of her mouth.
She closed her eyes and paused for a moment. “Now I lay me down to sleep,” she began. She opened her eyes and looked at me nervously. I shook my head. She closed her eyes again.
“Dear God,” she said falteringly, “Thank you for all my family here who came to be with me. Please help me be good sometimes,” she continued in a small voice, “and please help me be a good girl for all the world. Amen.”
I felt a warm glow spread from my heart all the way to my fingertips and toes. It was the sweetest prayer I think any of us had ever heard. And while I spend a lot of time mentally beating myself up for all the things I do wrong as a mother, at that moment I knew deep inside that I had done something right.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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