Last Sunday morning one of my best friends came to sit by me during worship. She usually does, for at least a little while, then she goes back to her parents. She's just turned 4. I've never been one to discriminate friendships based on age. There's so much to learn from everyone.
During the sermon she opened her pink purse Bible that folds over, snaps closed and has a handy little removable strap (when she can keep up with it). She placed the Bible in my lap and began turning the pages gently, one at a time. The pages made that soft-pitched crumpling sound that only Bible pages make when turned, and she whispered that she was going to show me the pictures. I nodded and smiled. We'd done this before. In a split second, her attention was diverted by some random sound one of her brothers was making in the row ahead, and she turned her head quickly. She inadvertently jerked not only her head around, but also her hand, holding the fragile Bible page between two of her chubby little fingers. A tiny Bible-page tearing sound was heard. She quickly turned around. Her eyes widened in shock and horror as she viewed the torn page. It was still attached by about 2 inches at the top. She pushed at the page a few times, quite frantically, as if she'd surely be able to get the torn part to re-attach itself. After it became obvious that this miracle wasn't going to happen, she looked up at me, and, in a tone that was part reassuring, part questioning she whispered, "God's not mad at me." I replied, "No, no, baby, of course He's not."
I feel like I've been having that same little exchange of conversation, over and over again lately, with so many different people.
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