Tonight we read Cinderella. The story begins, "Once upon a time, a wealthy widower lived in a fine house with his daughter Cinderella...Sadly, the gentleman died soon after..."
"Died?" TT exclaimed! "Did a bad man with a gun shoot him?" (a la MLK Jr.)
"No." and without thinking I said, "he probably got sick."
"Sick?" In her whimpery it's late at night and I'll cry at anything voice... "Mommy, I don't want you or Daddy or Cana or Naaman to get sick and die."
Noting my grave error..."Oh no. It's not like that, dear. Your mommy and daddy aren't going to die. People get sick in many different ways. And people die in many different ways. Do you remember the story about Jesus?"
"No...but wait." Off she scampered up the stairs to get her children's bible. She flipped through her bible noting all the stories she passed by -- the flood, the frogs,the boy king David, etc. "Look there's Naaman's story. He had spots on him." A page later -- "now they are gone!"
"Right," I said. "Naaman was sick, but Elijah made him well."
TT quickly flipped to the New Testament. "Look Mommy, it's my story. Do you remember that I died?" "Yes, sweetheart. The girl - who has your name - in the story died." TT put on her best know-it-all look dragging her syllables, "buuut, thheenn, Jesus made her all better again."
"Right again." TT flipped to the end of her bible. "Mommy, there it is. The cross. Look, Jesus died there." (Then she pointed out that the three crosses were small, medium and large, a cocept she had learned at preschool this week.)
"Then what happened?" I asked. "He came alive again," she said beaming.
Looking back to Cinderella's father, "So he didn't get shot by a bad man?" "Nope," I responded, "just probably got sick."
"Mommy, can you just read the story now?"
"Yup."
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