I confess I’ve been more of an observer than a writer this month. Some subjects like faith and perseverance compel us to pick up our pen to dissect the truths of the concept. But others, like childhood, insist we lay them down to get the full experience.

With seven grandchildren, childhood runs rampant around here. The last few weeks I have been a mental note-taker of the wisdom and wonder of ages two to nine and have relished my front row seat to a satisfying simplicity where black and white have never been so colorful.

Observation #1

These little ones live each day with an intentionality that would exhaust the most ardent adult. They play hard. They pray hard.

They have their priorities in order. Why would you not want your ice cream before dinner? Otherwise, you run a serious risk of eating too much “good for you” stuff and may have no room left for sugar.

They do little half-heartedly. Maybe they still require a bit of help in the chore department, but when it comes to something that speaks to their souls, they answer loudly. Amongst our young crew we have Lego maniacs, horse whisperers, a granddaughter who speaks fluent cat, and a grandson who has logged more flight hours in his make-shift cockpit, than most seasoned pilots.

Their prayers are bold and honest. This week our tender-hearted six-year-old, always ready with a warm hug, prayed earnestly for those in a passing ambulance but declared she drew the line at praying for “tricksters.” (Her word for the “bad guys.”)

Later, her cousin, seeing that my ankle was hurting, stopped right where she was and brought my pain to God’s attention. First, thanking Him that I loved flowers and ending with explaining to the Creator that she knew I would run in heaven someday, but could I please run with her down here on earth first? In three seconds, she had found the guilt-free gumption to ask God what I have longed to ask Him for three years.

Observation #2

With razor sharp clarity these children speak truth. Age has not yet commonized their vocabulary, nor robbed them of the charm and whimsy with which they describe their world.

Band-Aids are “owie socks.” An umbrella: a “rainbrella.” And yesterday: “lasterday.” (These last two gems come from our own little boy years ago.) Our clever preschooler is thirsty and promptly tells his mama that his brain is begging his mouth for water. And “Bruddy” is the name our two-year-old has chosen to call his big brother. It is a combination of brother and buddy. May they ever be.

Observation #3

Childlike faith is real. The sheet flung over the table is a magical cave. The sofa—a cockpit, and a wooden spoon—the joystick. And our grandchildren are quick to tell you there are fairies hiding in Grammy and Granddaddy’s backyard and their struggle with the thieving trolls is real.

Believing comes easy to them.

Our little first grader, who lives in Pocahontas’s old Virginia stomping ground, takes an apple and her Bible (true story) out each evening and waits for the deer to make their nightly trek through the woods surrounding her house. She is convinced with such enticements, she will one day earn their trust, and they will let her ride them.

That same first grader, when asked to set the table last week, promptly set a place for the family dog as well, napkin included.

“We are tough mee-an,” our tiny four-year-old tells his dad as they take out the trash. His dad nods in agreement, and a little boy stands up taller.

Indeed, we can learn a lot from those half our size…

Believing is better than doubting.

God says we can ask. So, ask.

Brothers make the best friends.

No matter how earthbound, you can always find a way to soar.

Finally, when someone hugs you. Hug back. Even better— hug first.

So, here’s looking at you, kid. Take your time growing up. Childhood is a sacred place God created just for you. Stay there as long as you can.

If only the yesterdays could truly last.
Magical days of childhood so quickly pass.
But when stored in love
The memories stay
And turn the past to “lasterdays.”