The Power of One Word *or* The Memory of a Child

I usually lead my son in his nightly prayers. Two nights ago I lasked him if he wanted to say them himself. He's very independent but at this time he's winding down, I figured it could go either way.

"Sure Daddy" he says.

"Thank you for Mommy and Tanta and Nama and Mommy and and Nama and Tanta and."

"And Daddy" I add.

"And Daddy and Mommy and Tanta..."

"And Johnny" I also add.

"And Johnny and Mommy and Daddy. Amen" He concludes.

The following day is quite exciting. He gets his first bee sting, goes swimming for the first time in 10 days (he had the flu) and Nama is coming from America to visit.

Last night after the spelling game has been played, the books read, and the oh so vital drink of water has been had, I ask "are you ready to say your prayers?"

"Sure Daddy." He squeals with so much entheusiasm that I suspect it may be a long while before he's asleep.

"Thank you for this meal and Mommy and Daddy and Tanta and Nama and Mommy and Johnny..."

One of my tricks to putting my son to sleep is to relax. I know he keys off my mood, level of interest, and activity level. I'm relaxed, pretending to be half asleep, but am surprised. Who is Johnny? He has no friends named Johnny. Do I know a Johnny?

Then it hits me. Johnny. One word from the night before, drawn from the memory of someone not yet three. Someone who runs up the rolling ladders at Wal Mart and dives at me knowing that I'll catch him. Someone with faith so innocent and pure that I know it can move mountains.