Little boy races to my lap… climbs up and winds arms tight around my neck.

Earnest whisper in my ear…

“Pray for me that I’m safe to eggs.”

“I will. You pray too.” I encourage back in whisper.

“I am going to!”

Off he scoots to bed. Word just came via test results that we were “go” to challenge eggs. 

Little boy: six almost seven.  Big enough to “feel” it… big enough to want it. Big enough to understand what it means to be “safe” to eggs. Big enough to have his own faith-filled story. Not just about me anymore… me keeping him safe, me pressing on, me protecting in every way, me baking in a whole new (now not so new) different way… about him. His story. His path. His journey.

Weeks spin by. Challenge time arrives.

I prayed. I prepared. I was ready. Ready for a fail. Scarcely thinking about a pass. A few thoughts given to foods we might eat… a few stolen glances in long laid aside cookbooks…

Faithfully encouraging all the children that without eggs we will still have the same, yummy treats we always have. Ready to shepherd precious faith through what might come our way.

Little Boy- he prayed, too.

Every so often, coming to me, hoping to pass, praying to pass. Praying for eggs.

Off he went with Daddy. The big day.

After a successful food challenge: HE PASSED!

Children ringed round the table. It is dinner time. I wash dishes.

I look over my shoulder.

Little boy, healthy, fine, upright in chair.

I encourage, “God answered your prayer, Asher. He heard you. You can eat eggs!”

Asher shares: “I prayed two times last night in my bed that He would make me safe to eggs. I also sang a hymn but I couldn’t remember the last verses.”

“Oh, what hymn was that?” I ask, wondering.

He replies, “I am not skilled to understand what God hath willed, what God hath planned…” a hymn we sing together at family Bible and also sing in church.

That hymn so perfectly expresses our journey. His journey. Praise God.

I am not skilled to understand
What God hath willed, what God hath planned;
I only know that at His right hand
Is One Who is my Savior!

I take Him at His word indeed;
“Christ died for sinners”—this I read;
For in my heart I find a need
Of Him to be my Savior!

That He should leave His place on high
And come for sinful man to die,
You count it strange? So once did I,
Before I knew my Savior!

And oh, that He fulfilled may see
The travail of His soul in me,
And with His work contented be,
As I with my dear Savior!

Yea, living, dying, let me bring
My strength, my solace from this Spring;
That He Who lives to be my King
Once died to be my Savior!

So appropriate. Indeed: I am not skilled to understand what God hath willed; what God has planned; I only know at His right Hand is One who is my Savior.

The faith of a little child. Pure, trusting, true.

Thank You Jesus- for the travail of Your soul, the faith of my child, and the wonderful delight of eating eggs again.

Seven days later:

we ring round the table again. One week before Asher’s seventh birthday. On every plate: scrambled eggs, bacon, and crispy crowns. (Baby just has eggs.)  Daddy’s cooking. We eat and marvel. All happy.

Daddy says contentedly, “Just as I planned.”

Dreams- they do

sometimes

come true.