The girls were in the kitchen this morning making cookies with Grandma when Rachel decided she'd better pray over the cookies before eating one. This made Miriam quite upset since we'd already said family prayer and had prayed over our breakfasts but Grandma explained that it's okay to pray anytime about anything—even cookies.
So Miriam said a very thoughtful prayer of her own.
"Dear Father," she said, "Bless a day. Name of Jesus Christ—bless the cookies—amen!"
Usually she only ever thinks to say "bless a day" and we have to coax and prompt her to say anything else so the fact that she thought to add anything "extra" to her prayer at all was special.
Now that Andrew's back in school he misses out on a lot of our cooking endeavors—he isn't home for dinner on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, for example. Yesterday I made lentil soup since Diana said she was making lentil soup and that sounded good. Andrew came home and heated some up and then decided he wanted a little something to go along with it, so he opened the fridge and looked around.
There were three eggs that were sitting in the door, separated from their peers in the egg container, in what he figured was a very conspicuous manner. Obviously, he figured, these eggs were leftover hardboiled eggs from when his mom had made potato salad for the BYU kids. He took out an egg, walked over to the counter, and smacked it to break the shell. Much to his surprise (and disappointment) it was not a hardboiled egg.
Egg went everywhere.
He said, overall, that he's glad he decided to eat that tempting "hardboiled" egg at home because he had thought about throwing it in his nifty Star Wars lunchbox to take to school. And it just so happened that he had eaten lunch in class, which meant that he would have been smacking that egg on his desk to break the shell.
That would have been much more embarrassing and much more difficult to clean up, not to mention disruptive.
Somehow just thinking about it makes me giggle though.
So Miriam said a very thoughtful prayer of her own.
"Dear Father," she said, "Bless a day. Name of Jesus Christ—bless the cookies—amen!"
Usually she only ever thinks to say "bless a day" and we have to coax and prompt her to say anything else so the fact that she thought to add anything "extra" to her prayer at all was special.
Now that Andrew's back in school he misses out on a lot of our cooking endeavors—he isn't home for dinner on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, for example. Yesterday I made lentil soup since Diana said she was making lentil soup and that sounded good. Andrew came home and heated some up and then decided he wanted a little something to go along with it, so he opened the fridge and looked around.
There were three eggs that were sitting in the door, separated from their peers in the egg container, in what he figured was a very conspicuous manner. Obviously, he figured, these eggs were leftover hardboiled eggs from when his mom had made potato salad for the BYU kids. He took out an egg, walked over to the counter, and smacked it to break the shell. Much to his surprise (and disappointment) it was not a hardboiled egg.
Egg went everywhere.
He said, overall, that he's glad he decided to eat that tempting "hardboiled" egg at home because he had thought about throwing it in his nifty Star Wars lunchbox to take to school. And it just so happened that he had eaten lunch in class, which meant that he would have been smacking that egg on his desk to break the shell.
That would have been much more embarrassing and much more difficult to clean up, not to mention disruptive.
Somehow just thinking about it makes me giggle though.
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