We try to pray with RJ nightly. She has a way of praying now that makes me so happy. She hardly ever "asks" for anything or says "thank you," but she hears us doing that, and for now I think we feel like we just want to encourage this space of comfort she seems to have found inside the prayer. She just sort of talks . . . and talks . . . recounting her day, making exclamations ("And then tomorrow Grandma is coming to the airport!"), and issuing evaluations ("Mommy is sooooo nice." "Baby Joe was naughty 'cause he was screaming.").
She also fixates on things. Here is a nearly verbatim excerpt from the other night:
"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this day. Heavenly Father, the cake is all gone. We had it all gone! I want that we have some more, but we can't because it's all out. I wish it was still up. Yeah. We were sad. And we were crying. And we said, "The cake is all gone so mommy can make some more. Uhuh?'"
Really, we did have cake. And it was all gone (as far as she knew). But she really didn't make too big a deal of it at the time. And she didn't cry. But it's so incredible to see her try to interpret and order her experiences after the fact. It's like we get to see what's going on inside of that little head of hers, when asking her that question point blank usually brings mixed results. ("RJ, what are you thinking about?" "Ummmm.......doggies!")
So after listening to her go on about cake for almost a minute, I started to crack. Sometimes Em and I both have teeth marks on our arms from biting them so hard during prayer. This time, though, I snorted, in a muffled sort of way but she heard it and then started going on for another minute about how "Daddy is so funny, huh? He's a funny guy because he like to laugh, huh?" The implied third person in this kind of conversation is what touches me so. As if God is nodding his head and saying, "Yup, he sure is. And he's lucky you're around or I'd have offed him years ago."