A tangled theological bed of moss

Sam and Susan are eating lunch when he says:

Sam: Can God see me? (Making Susan wonder if he'd done anything wrong.)
Susan: Of course! God can see everything.
Sam: How can he see me if he's dead? (Susan thinks, "Oh great, he's been reading Nietzsche!")
Susan: God isn't dead! Are you thinking of when Jesus died on the cross?
Sam: Oh, I forgot. I meant to say Jesus.
Susan: Jesus died on the cross but he also rose again--remember? He's not dead anymore.

(Sam glazes over.)

This morning Sam asked to smell the bottle of Tums. After, he said, "It smells like bad perfume." Given the earlier remarks a la Nietzsche, we were a little worried he would start talking about his time in Hanoi during 'Nam.

* * *

This morning Sam got out of his bed and into ours and said to Susan, "I had an adventurous dream", which he proceeded to describe, including centrally stealing (pirate?) gold. (Other good words used lately: "astonished", which he described as "surprised", and "passageway". I tried to get him to start using "ubiquitous", but it hasn't stuck.)

Other than that, a quiet weekend. Carried Sam around the house in a blanket slung over my shoulder, which is one of his favorite things. The play-liturgy requires me to pretend my bag of potatoes has started talking, and requires Susan to poke and prod it to see if it's really a bag of potatoes.

Tonight we take away the pacifier, on dentist's orders. (The replacement object of affection and source of comfort, a large teddy bear, is shown.) Pray for us all.