The Morning Prayer

This morning I was in the living room, kneeling over the couch cushions attempting to stay awake.

I would say I was praying, but I don't know for certain that what I was doing would be in the classification of prayer.

All of a sudden, I felt a hand on my back.

I knew that Charity was not in the room with me. And I didn't hear any footsteps coming down the hallway.

I stayed still. I let a few seconds pass, then said, "Uh, Jesus?"

I saw a tiny face peek around my left shoulder. "Dada!"

I looked around. It was Son #2. "Hey bud, what're you doing up?"

His words aren't clear yet. "Dada, imak ihasd haiw lumaje." The pacifier wasn’t helping.

"Uh-huh." I pulled him close to me. "Do you want to pray, too?"

He knelt beside me and bowed his head. It's so sweet to hear a one-and-a-half-year-old say "Jesus." Jesus and Amen were the only words I could understand.

He's been sick the past few days. A couple of days ago, he was letting loose all over his bedsheets. He's had a fever and required a lot of snuggling. He might have been asking God to help him feel better.

There were a lot of jumbled mumbles and words I had never heard before. I was thankful I didn't have to answer the prayer.

I don't have a clue what he said, but I know Jesus understood.

And that's all that matters.

to anyone who can’t find the words to say,

- Caleb