Shanna was the first reader to share a story.
Here's one of my recent favorites from a Sunday school kid:
"Miss Shanna, do you know who my favorite teacher is?"
"Who?"
He pauses, smiles slyly, and says: "You're ONE of them!"
Rebecca shares two stories:
Oldest daughter at two told her grandpa that his homegrown garden lettuce tasted like "ladybug pee."
When oldest son was three, he woke up on Easter morning, saw the Easter baskets and said, "Oh look! There are presents for the Easter Bunny!"
Here's a funny one from Kim:
Once, when my youngst was about 4 years old, he told us that Jesus washes our sins away.....with a dishtowel.
Each one of those stories reminded me of my own story.
Our family lived in Kentucky for four years. For the first two years or so, we had frequent miscommunications because of the differences in accent and culture. It's a whole different world. . .
I was teaching a Bible lesson on the plagues of Egypt to a room full of three and four year olds. (I didn't choose the topic. . .) I asked them if anyone knew what hail was. One little guy looked at me with a very solemn face and said, "Hail is where the devil lives." (I later learned that in South central Kentucky a hail storm is pronounced "hell storm.")
Rebecca's stories brougth back some memories, too.
When John was just a little guy--maybe two going on three--he tasted dog food from the dog dish and announced, "I ate some of Dolly's food. (dramatic pause) It was NOT delicious."
This same boy at about the same age, upon discovering his Easter Basket, dumped it all out on the floor and examined the contents. Apparently, we forgot to take the sales sticker off the little plastic bucket. He announced, "Hey, the Easter Bunny shops at KMart!"
This same child, like Kim's, was also a budding theologian at a very early age. This is one of my all time favorite kid stories.
When this same child was about 5 years old, (that's him, the ornery boy who is seen sitting on the big wheel in the photo in the original post) we had one of those famous "car conversations." You know the kind. It's when you're in the front seat driving somewhere, and the boy is in the back seat strapped in his car seat, thinking deep thoughts:
"Mommy, Jesus could come back tonight, couldn't He?"
"Yes, John. Jesus could come back anytime."
"That would be good, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, honey, that would be very good."
Long pause. . .
"Well, that would be good, but I hope He waits until I'm sixteen so I can get a car and a girlfriend."