past their cuteness and be serious about discipline. But I managed to put a
serious look on my face. “Colton,” I began, “do you know why you’re in
trouble?”
“Yeah. Because I didn’t share,” he said, casting his eyes down at the
table.
“That’s right. You can’t do that, Colton. You’ve got to treat people better
than that.”
Colton raised his eyes and looked at me. “Yeah, I know, Dad. Jesus told
me I had to be nice.”
His words caught me a little by surprise. It was the way he said it: Jesus
told me...
But I brushed it aside. His Sunday school teachers must be doing a
good job, I thought.
“Well then, Jesus was right, wasn’t he?” I said, and that was the end of it.
I don’t even think I gave Colton any consequences for not sharing. After all,
with Jesus in the picture, I’d pretty much been outranked.
A couple of weeks later, I began preparing to preside over a funeral at
church. The man who had passed away wasn’t a member of our
congregation, but people in town who don’t attend services regularly often
want a church funeral for a loved one. Sometimes the deceased is a friend
or relative of a church member.
Colton must have heard Sonja and me discussing the upcoming service
because he walked into the front room one morning and tugged on my
shirttail. “Daddy, what’s a funeral?”
I had done several funerals at church since Colton was born, but he was
at that age where he was starting to become more interested in how and
why things work.
“Well, buddy, a funeral happens when someone dies. A man here in
town died, and his family is coming to the church to say good-bye to him.”
Instantly, Colton’s demeanor changed. His face fell into serious lines,
and he stared fiercely into my eyes. “Did the man have Jesus in his heart?”
My son was asking me whether the man who had died was a Christian
who had accepted Christ as his Savior. But his intensity caught me off
guard. “I’m not sure, Colton,” I said. “I didn’t know him very well.”