Sunshine: Theology as seen by a four year-old

Sunshine:  Theology 101 according to a four year-old.

After I pick up Sunshine from Gateway Christian Preschool, we always have lunch together.

Having lunch with Sunshine is always an interesting event, even if it involves copious amounts of pbj, milk, and applesauce.  All it takes is a simple question, and her vast wealth of knowledge and opinions come flooding out like gold coins from Scrooge McDuck’s vault.

All I have to ask, “What did you learn at school today?”

Just before Easter, Sunshine’s eyes brightened at that question, and without missing a bite of pbj, or a drop of the jam from the oozy edges, Sunshine told me.  “I learned all about Jesus.  And, Grandma, did you know…”  

She paused for a swig of 2% milk, and to allow me to mop off her face.  “Did you know that Jesus gotted nailed to a cross?  That’s a thing that has two pieces of wood that make a small ‘t’.  The bad Romans (Where did she hear about them, I wondered.) took big nails, Grandma, really big nails.”  She spread her hands about a foot apart.  “And then they hammered them through Jesus’ hands, really hard.  Right through Jesus’ hands.”

Her wide blue eyes made contact with my green eyes, to make sure I understood what she said.  Oh, I understood.  I could feel His bones breaking, and the blood dripping onto the wood.  My green eyes became misty with tears.

With casual care, Sunshine licked off the strawberry jam that she had squeezed out from the bread, on purpose.  She likes to do that, and I don’t blame her; so do I.

“Then they stood the cross up like this,” Sunshine demonstrated with her yellow IKEA plastic spoon, “and dropped it in a hole like this.”  She brought down the spoon hard into the bowl of applesauce.  “That woulda really hurted, you know.”

Again her eyes looked deeply into mine, checking for understanding just like any good teacher would.  Oh, I understood how the cross would have hit the ground with a vibrating thud, and how this would have shook Christ’s body with waves of pain.  My eyes blinked at hers several times.

She told me the whole story, event by event, while I remained very still, listening and watching as my almost 5 year old granddaughter explained salvation to me.  “Miss Kenny gived us each a paper cross we color on, and I decided to color my cross like a sunset.”  I looked confused, I suppose, for now she patiently explained her ideas as if I were only 4 years old.  

“You see, Grandma, the red is for the Blood of Jesus, which He gave away so we can see Him in Heaven.  Then the orange is for the sunset when Jesus died.”  Another bite of pbj, and the last swallow of milk.  

“Can I have some more milk, Grandma?”  Without missing a beat while I automatically poured the milk into her pink IKEA cup, Sunshine lowered her voice to a whisper.  “Then I used yellow.  You know why I used yellow?” 

I shook my head, for at this point I didn’t want to or couldn’t talk.  “Well, the yellow is for sunrise, when Jesus got up out of His grave.  That meaned that He wasn’t dead anymore, that He was alive!”  She slammed her hand on the table.  “There!  See!  Jesus is alive!”

With the last bite of pbj, and the last swipe of the spoon around the bowl of applesauce, Sunshine finished up.  “Then I colored around the cross in blue, ‘cause Jesus went up to Heaven, and He’s waiting there for all of us.”  She gazed into my eyes and asked, “Grandma, why are you crying?  This is good news, not bad.  Jesus is alive!”

I pulled her into my lap and wrapped my arms around her.  Sunshine wiped her gooey face into my tee-shirt, and filled me with her warmth.  Yes, He’s alive, Sunshine.

Susan Kane

April 27, 2011

This is a re-post from six years ago.  I had forgotten about until I checked comments in Hold for Moderation section.  Sunshine is now eleven, my height, with the amazing blue eyes.  And she still knows what Jesus did for us.

C is for

Cactus Jim

Whoa, there!

Cactus Jim was the Midwest iconic cowboy.   In the tri-state area of Illinois, Missouri, and Iowa, Cactus Jim rode into living rooms at about 4 PM every weekday on his rearing stallion, wearing his cowboy attire.  In an area where men wore battered feed caps, Cactus Jim was our token cowboy in a real-honest-to-goodness cowboy hat.

We loved him so much.  We had Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and Hop-a-long Cassidy, but Cactus Jim was ours.  He taught us to drink Prairie Farms ™ milk, and eventually to enjoy the fine taste of Korn Top ™ hotdogs and luncheon meats.  For 17 years, from 1953 to 1970, Cactus Jim met us everyday in our TV, and showed us cartoons, although he was known to cut some of them short, or even show Popeye backwards (as he got tired of the spinach thing at the end of the cartoon, so he had it at the beginning).

Another fine thing about Cactus Jim was that children could visit him at the WGEM station, in Quincy, Illinois.  Those extra special kids could sit beside him, drink a glass of Prairie Farms ™ milk, and talk with him about his cowboy life.  I know.  I was one of the extra special kids.  I was an honored guest.

It is so clear in my memory how the six of us (including my brother Robert and good friend Carole Sue) sat on folding chairs and listened as the station manager give us instructions.  I don’t remember a word he said.  “Blah, blah, Cactus Jim, blah, blah…” was all I heard.  The lights went up, the camera came on, and we were live.  Five children sat in wide-eyed silence, because they had heard the instructions about all the millions of people who would be watching us, about how important it was to drink all the milk we were given, and about keeping our mouths shut unless Cactus Jim asked us something. 

The sixth child was me, and I chattered away to Cactus Jim, who kept glancing at my mother in the guest booth.  I saw that she was wide-eyed and had her hand over her mouth; my father was doubled over in laughter.  I kept talking, and Cactus Jim had a worried expression on his face; my mother had moved her hand to cover her eyes and was shaking her head.  Dad had found a chair, and was hunched over with his shoulders quaking uncontrollably.  Mercifully, a cartoon kicked in, and my mother was escorted over to me.  She gave me eye-to-eye instructions about being quiet, and let others do some talking.  Yes, I could do that.  Yes, m’am, I heard what you said.  Okey-dokey, Mom. 

He was a man of his times.

The milk was delivered to us on a tray with 7 glasses, and a big cartoon of milk.  Cactus Jim poured each glass with relish. We drank up, and I was determined to be a good-drinker-of-milk.  I drank mine so fast that milk dribbled down the sides of my mouth onto the extra special dress I had worn for my television appearance.  Too soon the program was over, and our parents were each given some product from the sponsor, while we were given a toy to commemorate our visit.  We were escorted out of the building.  I talked all the way home, while Robert fell asleep.   My TV debut was over, and life was good, even though I didn’t like the milk, since I was lactose intolerant. 

Many thanks to Arlee Bird, Jeff Bessler, Alexia Cavanaugh, Jen Daiker, Candace Grange, Karen Gown, Talli Roland, and Stephen Tremp!  Go to the link below:

http://tossingitout.blogspot.com