The conversation lasted a bite and a half of ice cream…such that when it was over, I wondered if it hadn’t been the ice cream doing the talking.
I’d been sitting with my legs crossed at the table when my son leaned his whole body up against mine and said sincerely, “I wish I was in heaven.”
I’m sure my eyebrows raised.
“Why?” I reflexed.
“Because Jesus is there.”
Then the question bubbled out of him, “Can we go?”
It’s my own answer I don’t remember–or if I even had one. My son had skittered away and was unraveling a map of California. And my ice cream was puddling on the spoon.
But I’d have held his cheeks between my hands and said, “yes, son. Yes. Some day we will be in heaven…hanging out with Jesus.”
I’m convinced, though, that in his four-year old wisdom…he already knows.