When Kyle was five years old, Santa brought him a kid-sized, toy rifle that could even be cocked and made a popping sound. [No, he did not use the gun in any cops/robbers kind of way. We respect guns in this house, and it never occurred to him to use it in a threatening way. He just wanted to hunt like his daddy.] He hardly ever put it down. A few days later, when I put him to bed, he offered up the following prayer:
Thank you, God, for bringing Grandma Florence here for Christmas. I hope she comes again. And when Jesus had his birthday, I hope he got lots of presents. Maybe he even got a gun like mine. Or even a big gun like mine (if you let him have one.) Amen.
What a cutie, huh?
My kids no longer wish for cheap, plastic toys. Now that they are older, it's all about electronics, so the boxes are smaller and the bang for the buck (excuse my pun) is less, too. But the "toys" are not played with any less, and the looks on their faces on Christmas morning are just as priceless.
Today, Kyle's rifle is a real one. He misses Great Grandma Florence, and he still prays before going to bed (though not with me). He talks to God (and he might even wonder if Jesus has an I-pod...)