Every now and then, Robbie’s insight makes me stop dead in my tracks.  Last night, as we were walking up the stairs, I said, “Robbie, I sure am glad I made you.” 

Without missing a beat, my three-year-old turned around, looked at me with wide eyes, and said, “You didn’t make me, Mom.  God did.  God made me.”

Stunned, there wasn’t much more I could say.  Even Justin, who was following my comment with, “Well, I helped make you, Rob.  You’re half mine,” was speechless.  Because Robbie’s right.  God did make him.  And I’m not sure how or why, but I sure am glad that when God made Robbie, he entrusted us to be his parents.

Later in the evening, after we had read a few stories and said our prayers, Robbie snuggled up close and got very quiet.  I thought he was almost asleep when I heard a very soft whispering coming from him.  I slowly moved my head to see his hands clasped together and to hear the final words of his prayer, “Thank you, God, for my mom, my dad, and my rocket ship.  Amen.”

There were no words.  I squeezed my child a little tighter and kissed the top of his head as tears welled up in my eyes.  There is nothing quite like the blindless devotion of a child to God to bring everything into perspective.  I know he hears about God in pre-school and Sunday school.  And I know he goes to chapel once a week and insists on being the one to say prayers at every meal.  But to see him pray when he doesn’t know anyone is watching or listening?  It is a beautiful reassurance to me that there is a God.