The prayer of a child

I babysat my two nephews, Tristan and Max, this evening. Max, the curly-headed imp, ran around shrieking and falling, leaving a trail of cheddar Goldfish everywhere he went. He kept throwing his favorite blanket over his head and then laughing hysterically when i would pull it off. He was like a little wide-eyed elf, in love with me and his toys and his house and everything he found.

Tristan, on the other hand, was unusually quiet. Typically boisterous and full of spunk, tonight he was content to lay down quietly and watch a movie, clutching his own blankie close. He was uninterested in his usual activities, like eating and stomping around the house roaring at everyone he sees. The fierce sharp-tooth was strangely sedated, perhaps as a result of his long and late nap. Sleeping too much can definitely bring an air of lethargy.

When bedtime came, and Wynken, Blynken, and Nod had sailed back home in their wooden shoe, and we had said our prayers, and had our milk, Tristan wanted to pray again. This time, though, he wanted to be the one talking. So he said, "Dear Jesus, please help Mama Laylee not to be scared, and to know that you are always with her.In Jesus name, Amen."

How is it that children always know just what to pray? Was Wordsworth right--is it because they have so lately come from Heaven that they still have memories of it that connect them to its heartbeat? Does their innocence give them a special insight that the clouded and jaded minds of adults can never see?

Whatever the reason, i am amazed that one simple prayer by a two-year old child can have more of an effect on me than all the eloquent prayers spoken by wise men.