She looks harmless, too.
But together, they sure pack a punch.
Tonight at bedtime, Lanie and I read part of Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder and then we cuddled and chatted. Lanie had a hearty "Amen!" after prayers tonight, and a sly look on her face.
"Lanie, were you paying attention to prayers?" I asked. Her smile looked like she'd been thinking of other things, like eating ice cream or something.
"Yes," she said, still grinning.
"Can you tell me what I prayed about?" I asked. Not in a drill-sergeant kind of way, but gently.
And she did, mentioning how I prayed for my eye. Which I did. Specifically thanking God my eye hadn't been hurt worse than it was. It was mere millimeters from something awful.
"Ok, you were listening," I said. For a kid who says she doesn't like to smile because it hurts her face, she should have been registering a ten for pain. Something was up. I studied her smile suspiciously.
"Do you know why your eye is better?" she asked.
"Hmm," I wondered.
"Because I prayed for you," she said.
"Thank you," I said and beamed my own ice-cream-eating, ten-scale smile.