Another busy day, with Zoe doing homework in the car as we drove from one activity to another. When we got in the car after ballet to drive to Maya's end-of-season soccer party, Zoe pulled out her Religion book to review for a test. She decided to test me, reading me the questions, giving her answer, and asking for mine -- and mine couldn't be the same as hers.
The first questions were easy -- what of God's creation do you experience with your five senses? Zoe's answers: eyes, flowers; ears, music; nose, perfume; mouth, spaghetti; touch, smooth rocks. Mine: my kids, my kids, my kids, my kids ("You can't EAT us!" Zoe says; "No, but I can kiss you all over!"), my kids!
The last was tougher -- "Write a prayer of blessing for a friend, a family member, or a member of your parish." -- tough because I'm one of those old-timey Catholics who have a hard time with spontaneous prayer (the Hail Mary? got it; St. Francis of Assisi's prayer? no problem; wanna hear the Our Father, got it covered)! Zoe's prayer was for a friend whose dog had died. Mine was a part of my usual, silent, night-time prayer: "Dear God, please bless Zoe's and Maya's birth families with the peace of knowing that their girls are happy and loved."
I glanced in the rearview mirror, uncertain what the silence from the back seat meant. Zoe was hugging herself and smiling -- glowing, actually. "Didn't you know I pray for your birth family all the time," I asked. Zoe answered, "No! But I'm glad, because I do, too!" That, I knew. But I guess I should have clued her in on my prayers long ago. It really mattered to her. I guess I should have figured that out sooner.
I Choose Not To
2 weeks ago