A Snail and Eternity
Sometimes it's the most unexpected things that launch the deepest, most life-changing conversations. To be fair, the boys and I have been having some serious conversations lately about every aspect of faith and eternity. But today, it was unexpected.
We'd been playing outside in the backyard when Henry discovered some snails. Two of them crawled over his hands while one rested on the back step. Suddenly, as he stepped forward, we heard a "Crunch!" He lifted his foot and looked down to find the third snail crushed on the step. An hour or more later, we were riding in the car to pick Micah up from work. Thomas asked, "Mom, do you think God knows about the snail that got crushed?" I told him most likely, since the Bible says that he knows when a single sparrow falls. I told him God cares about his creation, but sometimes he chooses to let things happen naturally. Animals get sick or get old, or little boys step on them by mistake. God could save them, but sometimes, for whatever reason, he doesn't. I told him that we had to remember even then that he is good, and that he loves his creation. I went on. I told him that for those of us who have chosen to accept Christ, not being saved was a good thing: it meant we could begin our lives in Heaven. I hesitated for a second, then went on. "But we have to choose that. We have to pray and thank God for what he did in sending Jesus to die for us. We have to know that we were bad people, and let him save us. We have to pray and ask him to be in our hearts so we can be his children."
I had pushed as hard as I could. I'd been praying for this conversation for years, and especially in the past several weeks. I'd been sharing it all with them, teaching them, answering their questions, laying all the foundation that I could. And now I'd laid it on the line. It was only a few seconds before Thomas said, "Mom? I want to do that, but I don't know how."
"Do you want me to pray with you? I can pray and you can repeat what I say. Would you like to do that?" He nodded enthusiastically. I swallowed hard and fought back the tears, then led him in a simple prayer. I thanked God for saving us, for loving us even before we knew him. I told him that we have done bad things and didn't deserve to be rescued, but thanked him for saving us. I asked him to be our savior, to make us more like him each day, to allow us to be his children. Thomas repeated each line softly, little head bowed in his carseat, a look of intensity on his face. When we finished I wiped away the tears. "Do you know what this means, Thomas? You're a Christian. You are God's child!" He beamed. From the very back seat, Henry's little voice piped up. "Mom? I prayed the prayer with Thomas. I prayed that prayer too."
I never knew how I would feel when my own children made this decision. I hoped they would, obviously, and hoped I might have the chance to pray it with them. But to actually sit in the car with them, hear their little voices praying, see the look of elation on their little faces... I can't describe the joy, the pride, the relief! I want to pour everything into them, teach them everything, and yet instill in them even now the knowledge that in several lifetimes they could never fully plumb the depths of their new faith.
For today, it's enough for them to know that they are God's children. For today, they are thrilled at the thought that there was a celebration in Heaven because of them. Henry told me as he was drifting off to sleep, "Mom, when I die, if there are still people on earth, I hope a little child asks Jesus into his heart. I want to see what the celebration looks like in Heaven."
And how fitting that it all started with a snail...
We'd been playing outside in the backyard when Henry discovered some snails. Two of them crawled over his hands while one rested on the back step. Suddenly, as he stepped forward, we heard a "Crunch!" He lifted his foot and looked down to find the third snail crushed on the step. An hour or more later, we were riding in the car to pick Micah up from work. Thomas asked, "Mom, do you think God knows about the snail that got crushed?" I told him most likely, since the Bible says that he knows when a single sparrow falls. I told him God cares about his creation, but sometimes he chooses to let things happen naturally. Animals get sick or get old, or little boys step on them by mistake. God could save them, but sometimes, for whatever reason, he doesn't. I told him that we had to remember even then that he is good, and that he loves his creation. I went on. I told him that for those of us who have chosen to accept Christ, not being saved was a good thing: it meant we could begin our lives in Heaven. I hesitated for a second, then went on. "But we have to choose that. We have to pray and thank God for what he did in sending Jesus to die for us. We have to know that we were bad people, and let him save us. We have to pray and ask him to be in our hearts so we can be his children."
I had pushed as hard as I could. I'd been praying for this conversation for years, and especially in the past several weeks. I'd been sharing it all with them, teaching them, answering their questions, laying all the foundation that I could. And now I'd laid it on the line. It was only a few seconds before Thomas said, "Mom? I want to do that, but I don't know how."
"Do you want me to pray with you? I can pray and you can repeat what I say. Would you like to do that?" He nodded enthusiastically. I swallowed hard and fought back the tears, then led him in a simple prayer. I thanked God for saving us, for loving us even before we knew him. I told him that we have done bad things and didn't deserve to be rescued, but thanked him for saving us. I asked him to be our savior, to make us more like him each day, to allow us to be his children. Thomas repeated each line softly, little head bowed in his carseat, a look of intensity on his face. When we finished I wiped away the tears. "Do you know what this means, Thomas? You're a Christian. You are God's child!" He beamed. From the very back seat, Henry's little voice piped up. "Mom? I prayed the prayer with Thomas. I prayed that prayer too."
I never knew how I would feel when my own children made this decision. I hoped they would, obviously, and hoped I might have the chance to pray it with them. But to actually sit in the car with them, hear their little voices praying, see the look of elation on their little faces... I can't describe the joy, the pride, the relief! I want to pour everything into them, teach them everything, and yet instill in them even now the knowledge that in several lifetimes they could never fully plumb the depths of their new faith.
For today, it's enough for them to know that they are God's children. For today, they are thrilled at the thought that there was a celebration in Heaven because of them. Henry told me as he was drifting off to sleep, "Mom, when I die, if there are still people on earth, I hope a little child asks Jesus into his heart. I want to see what the celebration looks like in Heaven."
And how fitting that it all started with a snail...
