“What’s your name?”
The other boy at the pool doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries.
“Brady. And that’s my daddy.” (After all, why would he introduce himself without acknowledging his namesake?)
“He’s holding a baby.”
Brady is quick to defend. “No he’s not. That’s my sister, Halle.” He’s always very logical and straightforward about such things.
And then comes that ever-present fact of life for Brady.
“My mommy’s dead.” Every time he says it, it’s emotionless, like something he read in a text book. (And yet, he spares no emotion when we’re alone and talking about her.)
The other boy is a little confused. “She’s dead? ”
“Yeah. Now she’s with Jesus.”
That’s my boy! He didn’t quite get to lay out the whole plan of salvation to the other 5-year old, but I love that there’s no way for any of us to share our story without God being a critical part of it.
And I’m not surprised. I’ll always stand firm on the fact that this is not our story, but God’s. We’re just tiny bit roles. Nice job playing the part, Brady.