Thank you God for praying. Thank you for beds. And thank you God for all the orange juice and cheese pops. And thank you for your clothes. I just love your clothes. And thank you God for Batman. And thank you God for Jesus.
Daisy is three and a half. Her bedtime prayers often go on… and on… and on. And I should really start recording them, because they are pure gold.
I am certain she uses this time as a stalling tactic—an effective one, because who’s going to tell her, “Now that’s enough praying!”? Not me!
So we let the girl pray on.
As she talks to God, she scatters in extra “Lord”s and “hay-men”s as filler while she’s thinking of what to say next. Every so often, something poignant comes out of her little mouth, and I’m dumbstruck: “Thank you for meeting us.”
I crack an eye and see she’s now done the same and is scanning the room through squinted eyes, her hands clasped in front of her.
When she can’t recall any more high points from the day to say thanks for—school, the playground, friends, teachers, various family members, and macaroni and cheese have already been covered—she moves on to whatever her eyes land on: the curtains, stuffed animals, lights, the rug, her bed, the dresser, clothes, blankets, doors, the fan, the ceiling.
And why shouldn’t she thank God for every little thing she sees around her? They are all from Him.
Stall tactics or not, her prayers ground me, reminding me of what’s important and helping me let go of what’s not.
We both say, “Hay-men.”
I’m in the midst of a month-long mission to document and give thanks for the everyday, mundane, and beautiful.
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