Walking Kindergartners

I spent the day walking groups of Kindergarten students from their classrooms to another room across the school building where they were being tested for reading skills. During the course of the day I was asked some serious questions by my 5 year old friends....

What color are you? Correct answer would be: white. Apparently my tan makes me look like I'm a different nationality?

How old are you? Correct answer would be: you don't ask a woman her age. According to one group of youngsters I must be at least 17. When I told them my real age I heard how their grandparents are that old and they are almost dead so I must be almost dead. One little girl looked at me like she wondered how I could even be upright, let alone walking at my age.

Are you a mommy? Correct answer would be: yes. Obviously I'm waaay too old to be a mommy.

Why are you so tall? Correct answer would be: I have no idea. Answer given after the I have no idea answer didn't work: because that's the way I was made. Not good enough. Next answer: because I grew this tall. Nope, not going to fly with this tough crowd. Final answer: my mom and dad wanted me to be tall so they stretched me until I was this big. That satisfied the inquisitive bunch... not really, we were back at the classroom and I deposited them before yet another question.

What school do you go to? Seriously, guys? Didn't you already decide I'm too old to go to school?

40!

It dawned on me yesterday during worship at church that it was my birthday. No, not the anniversary of my physical birth but the anniversary of my spiritual birth. I accepted Christ on Easter Sunday 1969 at the age of 9 years.

I remember it very clearly; my family went to Easter Sunrise service with Berean Baptist Church in Adrian; the service was held at Island Park that year. My sisters and I were able to walk to the park for the service as my parents drove along behind us (we only lived a couple of blocks from the park anyway).

Mom and Dad packed all 5 of us girls into the station wagon and took us to Sunday School followed by church service. I had been hearing about Jesus all my life but on that particular Easter Sunday, the Holy Spirit really made an impact on my 9 year old heart... it was as if I was hearing for the first time about how Christ died for me. My heart was nearly pounding out of my chest at the end of the service as I walked forward to tell the pastor that I wanted to accept Christ into my life.

I still have the bible that my Sunday School teacher gave me after that morning. Inside the front cover it simply says, "Faythe was saved Easter Sunday 1969", signed Mrs. Emerson. How cool is that?