It’s Monday morning and I am sorting through 162 emails deposited in my inbox over the past three months.  Liquid black eyes topped by spiky black hair peek over my laptop.  “Mom, come quick! I need you to play Lego cars with me!”

Inward groan.  I am terrible about getting on the floor and imagining with my 4-year-old son.  But the emails have waited this long and can wait another couple of hours.

I am allotted a Lego space cruiser to accompany my son’s Lego speed racer on our adventure.  I begin to blast what I think is an evil purple car, when my son screeches for me to halt.

“That is Ramone, and he is hiding ’cause he is sad ’cause his mom and dad died.”

Hmm … This is an unexpected twist.  “What should we do about Ramone?”

“I know, Mom!  Let’s go get him a mom and dad to ‘dopt him!”  And his speed racer makes a loop and comes back with Ramone’s new parents.  We then sell off blocks from our Lego vehicles to give Ramone money for his schooling.

“Hey, Son.  Did you know that I am adopted like you?  Yeah, really!  Climb onto my tummy and I’ll tell you about it.”

As I lay on the floor with him perched on my stomach, I tell him my sad story.  How I was lost in my sin and longing for someone to love me.  How, by dying on the cross, Jesus reached down to me and adopted me into His family.  And now I not only have a new family, but an inheritance, too.  My boy listens with his mouth screwed up in a goofy grin.

Suddenly there is a rumble on my stomach and he erupts in giggles, “I tooted on your tummy!”

Moment over.

Back to slaying “Goliath” with Lego destroyers he has now christened “Jesus.”  But the seed has been planted and it’s up to God to bring forth the fruit.