dying, full of cake

Kayla, Hannah, and Summer and I went out today. We shoe shopped and then went to lunch at Chili's. Summer ate some of her lunch and then asked if we could have dessert. She's our dessert girl. When she gets sweets, she giggles, grins and claps. Today was no exception. Her dessert of choice was Molten Chocolate Cake. It's a warm chocolate cake with a melted fudgy center topped with a huge ball of vanilla ice cream covered in a hard chocolate coating. A chocoholics delight--Summer's delight.

She was several yummy bites into it when she said, "When I die, I want to be full of cake." Hannah's eyes got big and her jaw dropped. Summer noticed her sister's reaction, laughed and said, "What? I like cake." I understood exactly what she meant. When cake is good, it's wonderful and chocolate cake is my favorite, too. How good would it be to go to heaven with a tummy full of cake? Perfection. That's what. At least in my granddaughter's mind it is.

My surprise wasn't that Summer loved cake enough to die with a full tummy of it, I was stunned by a 6 year old talking with no fear about when she would die. Lots of people are superstitious about death because if we talk about it it will come sooner. Won't it? I know someone who didn't want to decorate for Christmas when her sister was very sick because when she did many years before, that same sick sister's husband died. For her the connection was too strong, and WHAT IF if did happen? Wouldn't it be her fault for putting up that Christmas tree anyway?

I'm glad my Summer-belle isn't afraid to talk about realities of life and death, even if it does include her childlike perspective with dessert. She's learning positive things at home about faith in Jesus and heaven and it shows her trust in the Lord to take care of all the details in the things she doesn't understand.

Luke 11:25 At that time Jesus said, "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.

Lord, let me trust you as a little child, not only in death, but in all of life and in its every circumstance.

Suzanne