Aidan's dinnertime prayers are never predictable. Sometimes I watch him with one eye open, half fearful, half in awe. A few nights ago, as we learned about the devastating tornado in Alabama, I reminded Aidan to pray specifically for a couple of family friends in Birmingham.
He closed his eyes and lifted our friends before the Lord: ". . . . and I pray that they would be like that box of eggs that was carried away for two miles and none of them were broken. I hope that would happen to them . . . except they didn't fly for two miles . . . ."
I tried to keep a straight face, but failed. It's rather unconventional to have Magic School Bus book material inserted into a prayer. But apparently there was once a crate of eggs that was transported, unharmed, for miles during a storm. (I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised at this prayer. Aidan frequently drops bits of data into his conversations. You just never know when it's going to show up.)
We were indeed thankful to hear that our friends were okay: No one flew for two miles before landing. But there is brokenness. Not only in Alabama, but all over our country, all over our world. So we continue to pray and we continue to hope. Most of all, we continue to praise the One who reigns supreme over all the earth, eagerly anticipating the day when we'll be carried away and completely released from all brokenness.
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