Something happened. It's something that I would like to take the time to describe better, and maybe I still will, but here it is, in rough form. Asher got scared. Not whimpering scared, but screaming, shaking, clinging scared. I helped him climb onto my lap (Silas was already on one shoulder), and he curled as close to my side as he could get. Once he calmed down, he said he wanted to pray. Not play, pray. Then he asked for his guitar. His guitar was a gift from Granny before she died - that she gave to him early, knowing she would not live until his birthday - so it is not a toy that is left out. I pulled it out of his closet, and Asher began strumming and saying the words to Jesus Loves Me.
I was shocked. First of all, I don't sing that song to him, so he must have learned it from - I'm not even sure where. His grandmother, maybe? The church nursery? I'm not sure. More importantly, the fact that he equates music with prayer, and that he wanted to pray/sing when he was scared, was huge.
Like everything else, there are a thousand ways to share your faith with your children. But I grew up with too many friends who were forced to hold to a form of religion that had no meaning or power in their lives, and I don't want my children to ever think that's what trusting God is about. So we don't push it. As opportunities arise, we talk - about Jesus, about love, about kindness. Wanting to sing and pray when he was looking for comfort - maybe he learned that from watching Brian? That's my guess. And maybe also it is God answering my prayer, which is, for both children, that they will never remember a time when following God is not a part of their lives. I don't know how to explain it, exactly, but to witness it felt holy.