Tuesday, December 14, 2010
and a partridge in a pear tree
So last night, like every night recently, Sophie had a huge seizure at the dinner table. Right before, the boys and I had off-handedly said that we would pray that she wouldn't. But she did, and while I held her and comforted her and then hauled her off to her bedroom to rest, the boys silently finished their dinner. When I came back to the kitchen to finish my own, we were all silent and that's when I started to cry, just a little bit, but enough so that both boys jumped out of their chairs and we all stood together in a hug. The silence, though, prompted me to start talking and the conversation that ensued was a beautiful and near-hysterical one. Hysterically funny, that is -- hysterically absurd -- hysterically profound.
Me: So, what do you think about the fact that we prayed Sophie wouldn't have a seizure and she did?
Henry: I don't know.
Oliver: God doesn't care.
Me: I can see why you'd feel that way. Why do you think God doesn't care?
Oliver: Well, it's like this. God is up there, looking down, and his angels keep coming around to tell him about people's problems. God's not always listening because it's impossible to listen to everyone.
Me: I think God is more like a spirit in everyone and everything. So that means he can't really listen or do anything but he can be with us, with Sophie when we're sad and suffering. I think that spirit is always there and it's love.
Henry (rolling his eyes): Can I go now?
Oliver (to the tune of "The Twelve Days of Christmas"): ... and my buuuuuutttttt looks like a ham.