One of Buxton's newest interests seems to be causing some moral questioning in our household. The boy flat out loves his Bible--loves it. Won't go to bed without at least two Bible stories, then a perusal of basically every other page in the book. He runs into his room and picks this picture Bible up off the shelf, returns to the living room and lets go only when the Spirit leads.
Which brings up a peculiar problem. Do I take his Bible away from him? How do I tell him, bedtime or no bedtime, to stop reading the Word of God? That feels about as wrong as anything can, yet he'll stay up into morning flipping through his Bible pages if we let him, looking for and pointing to "Gigi," the blessed Son of God. We've been through Noah, Ester, Job, Nicodemus--the whole lot of them.
Then this morning, just when I thought I knew the worst (best?) of it, the boy shamed his daddy. Buxton decided to wake up at 5 a.m., Anna decided she would sleep and so I got baby duty. I coaxed him into the guest bed with me for a few minutes sleep, only to find me wake a minute or two later to him sitting up in bed reading a book called, I jest you not, Six Secrets to a Powerful Quiet Time: Discovering Radical Intimacy with God. Didn't know we had that book. You couldn't pay me any amount of money to tell you where he got it. Suffice it to say I slept no longer this morning.
In all seriousness, I couldn't be happier for my son. Anything else, at least on this topic, is a me problem.
