Sweet Moments

One recent afternoon, the walls were closing in on me. We were in our third day of 100 degree weather, and the high temperatures coupled with our status of having a one-year-old were leaving us with very little to do. Even going to the pool was out because I was afraid Henry would wilt in the humidity.

After book time and game time and a family work party followed by back-to-back episodes of Tom and Jerry, we needed to get out. We might not be able to be outside, I declared, but we could definitely be out of the house.

Our first stop, I decided, would be to our favorite gas station. I loaded the boys and we headed in that direction. When we arrived I directed the boys to the walk-in beer cooler, which is kept at a refreshingly crisp 28 degrees. We all stepped inside and stood for a minute.

“This feels awesome,” someone declared, “let’s never leave.” I’m not sure but I think that person may have been me.

We had to leave eventually of course, and I told the boys they could each spend $2 on a treat. While I know that sounds like a lot, I felt the boys had earned it – they had done chores for several hours that morning and I figured fifty cents an hour is legal in some countries. I also decided the $8 total would be money well-spent because I wasn’t sure where we were headed after our first stop but I knew it would involve riding in the car. A nice quiet ride would be just the ticket.

After each boy made his selections, we loaded back up. I was armed with an ice-cold fountain soda and a pack of fig-newtons to share with Henry, and everyone else had a plethora of coke slushes and five-cent candies. It was then that I should have calculated that the grams of sugar being ingested would be indirectly proportional to the amount of quiet I would experience for the rest of our outing. But I guess I didn’t care – we were out of the house!

At that point, we headed down the road to the airport. The boys wanted to see a plane land. As there is not a constant flow of airplane traffic in and out of our city, I knew it would be hit or miss. Sure enough as we approached, one of the boys spotted a plane. We cruised along a side-road and followed the plane as it slowly taxied. Then it turned, so we turned. We followed it back until we realized it was slowing down, not speeding up, and it was actually heading to the terminal.

Somehow in the midst of all this, we got to talking about religion and being Catholic and where exactly did the Catholic faith come from. I explained to the boys that one of the wonderful things about our faith is that it comes directly from Jesus. Jesus taught and explained the faith to Peter, who then instructed Linus and on and on right down the list of Popes we have on that framed poster in the study.

The boys were so talkative, so interested in the history of our faith and I was thankful, as we drove along, for these beautiful moments that God provides. I could not have planned a better conversation.

“What about the Jews,” asked Charlie after a minute. “What do they believe?”

“They don’t believe Jesus is the actual Messiah they had been waiting for,” I told him. “They believe he was a prophet.”

“But what if they’re right,” Charlie wondered. “How do you know?”

I started to mentally flip through my history and theology to come up with a suitable answer, until my six-year-old answered for me.

“She knows because she’s mom,” Augie said exasperated, “and Mom knows everything.”