As he carried her up the center church aisle, her little voice rang out with a harmonious jumble of nonsense. Her ignorance of the song's verses did not inhibit her in the slightest. All the while, her eyes danced around the sanctuary in search of a smiling face. When she caught a friend's eyes, a smile would boldly break out across her tiny, heart-shaped face. But as they approached the communion table, her little voice quieted and her eyes locked upon the bread. She watched intently as her daddy received the morsel, carefully dipped it into the wine, and placed it in his mouth. "May I have some, daddy," she asked quietly. "No, little L," he whispered. Suddenly, her growing sense of justice and love was very abruptly violated. "But Jesus loves me, too," she protested as tears streamed down her face. "Jesus loves me too! He does! Jesus loves me!"
J and I were entirely caught off guard by our sweet little L's strong, though incomplete, perception of Communion! We hadn't yet taken the time to explain this sacrament to her. And it was one of those parenting moments in which we thought, "Shoot! How in the world do we handle this one? How can we explain this to a two year old? We can't exactly hush her up and ignore her tears. Not this time." As we sat down in the pew, Jake tried to explain that Communion is a special thing she'll get to do in a few years. This didn't quite settle her though, so I (heretically, I'm sure) told her Jesus would be getting her ice cream after church. Her eyes quickly perked up. ha! And as we sang the final hymn that evening, I grew increasingly grateful for a God that, in spite of our deficient answers, loves and pursues my little two year old's heart.
