Tales from WannaBea Farm

Jesus and the soap

The boy, about 3 years old, barefoot and dressed in short pants, was sitting under the oak tree, just staring out into space. Watching him through the kitchen window, his mother thought, “Uh oh”, as her son was hardly ever still. He was usually a whirlwind of activity except when thinking up new ways to get into trouble.

Yep, he was definitely getting ready to do something outlandish. She just hoped it wasn’t going to be something dangerous like when he sneaked out of the house while she thought he was napping and she was relaxing with her book, grateful for the quiet respite. Until she heard the horns honking that is. Looking out the window she had seen him standing in the middle of the busy street, directing traffic! Her heart was pounding with fear that she would not be able to reach him before some driver, not paying attention, would run over her baby. Scooping him up she ran towards the house with drivers yelling at her about what a lousy mother she was and other unprintable epithets. That was the day he had learned how to use a broom to unlatch the screen door and necessitating the purchase of new, spring loaded, broom proof latches and a fenced in back yard.

Walking outside, she curled up on the grass beside him. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Nothing’, I’m just thinking”, he replied. “What about?” She questioned, but he would not admit her to his thoughts. No matter how many times or how many ways she asked, he always replied the same, “Nothing, I’m just thinking”. It was so frustrating for her.

Finally, she let him be and returned to her kitchen and the preparation of dinner, wondering what on earth a three year old could be so preoccupied with. It worried her for him to be so serious but there seemed to be nothing that she could do about it.

“Okay, time for your bath”, his mother said, grabbing him up and dancing with him towards the bathroom, blowing on his belly and making him laugh. After running the bathwater and depositing him in the tub, she sat on the edge of the tub watching him. Instead of laughing and trying to splash her as she soaped him, he had again gotten that somber, thoughtful look he had had earlier in the day.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” his mother asked, “Do you feel bad or something?”

Looking up at her very seriously, he asked, “Mama, Jesus is our Lord, isn’t he?” “Whoa,” she thought, “this sounds serious.”

“Yes”, she answered, waiting for him to continue, but he just sat there, very still, holding the soap with that deep in thought look. Finally he asked, “Why does Jesus want my soap?”

His mother nearly fell off of the tub and was trying desperately not to laugh as she asked, “Why do you think Jesus wants your soap?”

“Well”, he answered, “every night when I say my prayers, I say, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my SOAP to keep’, so why does he want MY soap?”

Now the mother, really trying now to stifle her laughter, bowed her head and said, “Lord, help me!”