It wasn't funny, but then again, it was...

Last night Sarah and I were snuggling Joel in bed and
talking about how Jesus suffered on the cross.

Sarah said, "They did all kinds of mean things to Jesus. They mocked Him,
they spit on Him, they yelled mean names at Him.”

Then Joel said, “And the pweece whipped Him.”

“Police?” I asked, trying to figure out his meaning. “Do you mean soldiers?”

“Yeah, soldiers . They whipped Jesus on the bare hiney.”



Sarah and I erupted in laughter. I don’t mean at all to treat this subject lightly, but until that moment, I had never heard the words “Jesus” and “bare hiney” in the same sentence.

When we finally composed ourselves, we were sobered by the connection that this four year old had made between his kind of suffering and the Lord’s. (Worlds apart, for sure—I am not even intending to compare, as Joel’s never gotten more than a few whacks with a wooden spoon.)

But then he said, “Why are the two o’ you laughing? It’s not funny.”

We hugged him and said we knew it wasn’t funny, but the way he said it was.

Hernia Humor

Last night I was talking on the phone with my sister in Texas, while keeping an eye on Joel in the tub.

Rachel told me her 8 year old son, Teddy, just had hernia surgery and recovered very well. My Joel has had two inguinal hernias in three years. The first one, repaired at age 12 weeks, he will never remember. But the second one appeared in late April last year, and he had long enough to befriend it, sticking it back in when out and sleeping with hand "down there" at night as a matter of comfort and habit. He was even glad to know he could take it to Disney World on vacation. We talked about his hernia for several weeks before surgery,matter-of-factly, and when the operation was over, he cried that he wanted his "hernie" back.

When I hung up the phone last night, I knelt down by the tub and told Joel, "Hey, ya know what? Teddy just had hernia surgery like you. Do you remember your hernia?"

He sighed and nodded, then said, "Chronicles of Hernia."

Ripped

My son, Ben, is around 6'6 or 6"7" and is into bodybuilding, big-time. He usually lift weights every other day in our basement, wearing an old white undershirt.

Yesterday he was standing in front of the fridge (looking for protein) and I said, "Ben, you've got a ripped shirt. How come?"

He sticks out his chest, flexes his biceps, and smiles proudly. "A ripped shirt on a ripped body," he said.