Did you hear about the Texas teacher who was helping one of her kindergarten students put on his cowboy boots? He asked for help, and she could see why. Even with her pulling and him pushing, the little boots still didn’t want to go on. Finally, when the second boot was on, she had worked up a sweat. She almost cried when the little boy said, “Teacher, they’re on the wrong feet.” She looked and sure enough, they were. It wasn’t any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on. She managed to keep her cool as together they worked to get the boots back on—this time on the right feet.
Then he announced, “These aren’t my boots.” She bit her tongue rather than scream, “Why didn’t you say so!” like she wanted to.
Once again she struggled to help him pull the ill-fitting boots off his little feet. No sooner had they got the boots off when he said, “They’re my brother’s boots. My Mom made me wear them.” Now the teacher didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But once again she mustered the grace and courage to wrestle the boots back on his feet. Helping him into his coat, she asked, “Now, where are your mittens?” He answered, “I stuffed them into the toes of my boots.”
Some years ago our pastor paid our home a visit to discuss the upcoming baptism of our newborn son. Our firstborn, who was 2-and-a-half at the time, answered the door and was asked if mommy was home. He yelled into the house, “Mommy, Jesus is here!” During the course of the visit the pastor asked our son if he enjoyed being in church. To which he replied, “No, not really. Sometimes you pray too long and I have to pee.”
Our 7-year-old grandson was anxious to leave the supper table to go and play, so he offered to do the prayer: “Thank you, God, for everything we usually pray for. Amen.”
When our oldest daughter attended preschool, my husband was serving as a second staff person at a large Christian Reformed church in Grand Rapids, Mich. His title was Director of Youth Education and Evangelism.
One day our daughter’s teacher thought it would be fun to go around the room and have the children say what their fathers did for a living. When it was our daughter’s turn, she proudly announced, “My daddy’s into vandalism!”
To illustrate a point in my children’s message I took off my wedding ring and asked one of the kids to read the inscription inside. Slowly the child read, “Terry. July 10, 1993.” Then the child ad-libbed, “Made in China.” So much for the point I was trying to get across.
I was visiting some church members who are spending the winter in Florida when one asked me if I knew the definition of a snowbird. When I said I didn’t she explained: “The women are too old to get pregnant, and the men all look like they are!”
Yesterday my 4-year-old son asked me if we could go see where his army guys lived. (This was after a long discussion on why we couldn’t go to the zoo and see dinosaurs.) I explained that his pretend army guys were just toys but that there are Army guys—soldiers—in real life. We could drive by the armory if he’d like to see where some real-life Army guys sometimes go. On the way he asked if all the Army guys would be there. I said, “No, Army guys are all over the world; some of them are a long way away fighting a war in a country called Iraq.” There was silence for quite awhile, then he asked, “How do they get there?” I explained that they have to fly a long time in an airplane. He said, “No, I mean, how do they get inside the rock?”