After two days of rain, Abby and I were both so stir crazy that a walk sounded lovely, even though it was still drizzling and the wind was chilly. As we walked, I quizzed Abby on the questions and answers of her catechism.
She broke off on a tangent somewhere around question 4, launching instead into the little conversation that she repeats with Stephen as he tucks her into bed at night.
Abby: “I am broken, Mommy is broken, Daddy is broken.”
Me: “That’s right. And who else?”
Abby names some of our family and friends: Mea and Pop, Mawmaw and Pawpaw, Eli and Brooke.
Me: “That’s right. We’re all broken. Who can fix us?”
Abby: “God can fix us.”
Me: “What is our medicine?”
We walk a few more steps, and out of the blue, Abby tells me that she has a sister (this is news to me!).
Me: “You know what you do have? A brother. Baby Sam is your brother.”
Abby: “Baby Sam is broken.”
Me: “No…Baby Sam is the only person in our whole family who is not broken!”
When we got home, Abby reviewed our conversation for Stephen, and assured him: “Sam is not broken. God has already fixed him.”
Just one of the many times that I’ve started a conversation thinking I’m the teacher, and realizing that I’m speaking the very words that I need to hear myself.