When You Forget Who You Are
When my firstborn was just a toddler, we often began our dinnertime routine with a silly game.
“Whose boy are you?” I’d ask my son as we gathered round the table when Daddy got home. The answer changed from night to night, but Luke’s irrepressible delight did not.Baby blues ablaze, he loved to hold us in suspense as he decided his momentary allegiance.
“I’m Daddy’s boy!” he’d declare, while my husband cheered and I feigned grief.
But on another night, he’d pucker his lips into a drippy kiss and change his answer. “I’m mommy’s boy,” he’d say with a giggle as my rowdy applause drowned out his daddy’s moans.
One evening while we engaged in the customary charade, God interrupted our juvenile game with a question of His own.
