Simpler is always better.

“Childhood is a strange country. It’s a place you come from or go to—at least in your mind. For me it has an endless, spellbound something in it that feels remote. It’s like a little sealed-vault country of cake breath and grass stains where what you do instead of work is spin until you’re dizzy.”
-Lyall Bush

Three sets of legs were crowded into the smallest corner of the couch—mine, the longest by far, providing a base for Caitlin and Nathan to rest theirs upon. I was their “new babysitter”, but it didn’t take more than fifteen minutes after their mom left for them to find familiarity in my lap as we sat down to conquer a pile of children’s stories dizzily stacked on the floor by our side. We dug our feet into the warm space between the couch cushions and cozied up to read. Caitlin, newly six, wanted to read the story herself. I watched with a smile as she sounded out each sentence—paying particular attention to the endearing way she said any word that began with “s”, her tongue resting between rows of teeth creating an memorable lisp. She had recently lost her front tooth, though I couldn’t tell if it was her right or left front tooth, because the gaping hole was square in the middle of her mouth. Just another adorable attribute to add to her already- endearing face complete with a ski jump, upturned nose and countless freckles.

We were barely beginning Blueberries for Sal before Nathan briskly hopped off my lap and shouted, “Ok, let’s go to the park now!” Caitlin was in full agreement.

“Can we bring a picnic lunch?” Caitlin asked, her eyes widened with excitement.

“Sure!” I said, assuming we would go for the traditional sandwiches and carrot sticks.

“Let’s bring taquitos!” Caitlin spurted loudly, a mist of spit lingering in the air from her over- pronounced “s”. Microwavable party appetizers. Not exactly my idea of a memorable park picnic lunch, but I went with it. After a minute in the microwave, I placed the steaming taquitos into a plastic Ziploc, their warm surfaces fogging the bag.

“No!” said Nathan. “You have to cut them into pieces.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, “how many pieces should we cut them in to?”

“Ten” was his firm answer. “That way there’s much, much more to eat.” The psychology of food. Brilliant.

After slicing some apples and red peppers, we piled into my car. Only seconds after pulling out of the driveway I heart Nathan mutter from the backseat, “Whoa, Abbie…why is your car sooo messy?” Busted. The heart of a child—so honest.

As we drove along, Caitlin pointed out the circular black ball stuck to my front windshield, a car compass my dad had picked up for me at the dollar store. “Wow!” she almost shrieked. “That is so cool! It tells you where to go!”

“Yup, pretty neat,” I replied, amazed at her genuine fascination with the plastic compass.

“Yeah, we have one of those in our car too”, Caitlin said, “but it’s a computer…a GSP…”

“You mean GPS?”

“Yeah, GPS,” she agreed, “but yours is waaaaay cooler!” The beauty of Caitlin’s simplicity had me laughing. I loved it.

Both Caitlin and Nathan had me giggling the entire afternoon and into the evening. Their candid responses to questions were so unknowingly clever.

“So what does your daddy do?” I asked once we were back at home, changing into pajamas.

“He’s got a job,” Nathan said.

“What kind of a job?” I pressed further.

“Oh, a regular one,” Nathan responded.

“I think he works at a bacon store,” Caitlin added. I smiled, perplexed.

“A bacon store?”

“Yeah, mom’s always saying that daddy’s out makin’ the bacon.” Priceless.

After Caitlin and Nathan were in their PJs with matching tops and bottoms, their hair a ruffled mess from pulling their heads through their collars, we all climbed onto Nathan’s bed to read one more story. He picked out his Children’s Bible Stories book, and we read about Peter being miraculously freed from prison. The key verse was Matthew 21:11, “And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.”

“What is receive, Abbie?” Nathan asked.

“Receive kind of means to get something. In this story it meant that because the people from Peter’s church asked God to help Peter out, He did. God answered their prayer. They believed, and so they God gave them Peter back.”

“I think God could do anything in the world,” Nathan responded. Such an honest answer and such enormous, confident faith in his little heart astounded me.

“He really could,” I said back, thanking Jesus for that special moment.

I loved the wonders of Caitlin and Nathan’s buzzing, childlike minds. I loved how simple they were. I adored their trust. The way that they listened to an answer I gave them and full-heartedly believed it, even with knowing little else, finding satisfaction in my response. They didn’t know everything, but they were satisfied with knowing enough—what was pertinent in that moment.

I walked downstairs after putting the kids to bed and sat on the couch to read. I was still in awe of Nathan’s four-year-old theology, “I think God could do anything in the world.” So much simpler than mine. So much better than mine. His image of God’s power to move wasn’t clouded by even the smallest speck of disbelief. No confusion. No doubt. Total clarity concerning the power of God. I burrowed my feet into the warm spot between the cushions, the same space my feet shared earlier with Caitlin and Nathan’s. And for a moment I shared the same mindset too, “He really could,” I thought, “He really could.”