Tonight, we were on the way home from Bible club. Nathan ADORES church and Sunday School, and AWANA.
He is in the little kid’s group called Cubbies. His workbook included a CD which we listen to in the car sometimes…..when big brother isn’t around to roll his eyes!
The story we heard on our way home was about Paul and Silas. Little guy listened then asked, “Mom! What’s jail?”
I am not sure I was prepared to hear that question come from my little one. It almost took my breath away. It’s amazing the thoughts that rolled through my mind.
James was really only a few months older than this guy is now when dad went “away”. It was a reminder to me of HOW LITTLE James was. He was so young….barely out of babyhood.
I answered that jail was a place where people go who make bad choices.
This little guy of ours isn’t content with simple answers and so the questions and discussion went on and on.
My stomach felt a little sick actually because discussing jail isn’t in my top 10 list of fun things to do on a Wednesday evening…..or any evening!
I thought how very blessed he is to not know about jail. How precious that jail doesn’t touch his life.
But it does touch his life doesn’t it? Because it touched ours.
All of the people in his family were touched by our experience with jail. We are different people because of it.
He’s not 6 or 7 or 8 years older than he is because of jail. He’s the perfect person and God gave him to us at the perfect time. I do know that. I’m just stating that we probably would have had other children and probably not a 3 year old at this stage of our lives.
Jail is that big ugly something in our lives.
The thing that still hurts to think about.
The thing that is still not shared freely with everyone.
The thing that hangs over our memories.
The thing that I scan James’ face for when I look at photos of him from that time period.
Jail is the baggage that all of the people in this house carry. All except for that feisty little one.
For our little guy, jail is just something he hears in a Bible story.
It’s not something that makes Father’s day unbearable to experience.
It’s not something that causes the kids at his table in Sunday School to laugh at him.
It’s not something that adults whisper about around him.
It’s not somewhere he goes to put his hand on a window to “touch” his Daddy.
And we are so thankful.