"Little Preacher Boy"

"Little Preacher Boy"

This time of year stirs up memories about past holiday seasons. I can't help but reminisce about all those Thanksgiving feasts, getting together with family and eating until I thought I'd pop. Christmas memories are also always in the back of my mind. As Buddy and I talk about past celebrations, about those Christmases when our kids were little and how excited they always were when we finally gave them the okay to rip into their presents . . . we can never rehash those memories without both of us getting teary-eyed. He shares a memory with me and I share another one with him . . . . . silence and sniffles.

On our way to church yesterday, that's what Buddy and I were doing - remembering when our kids were little. We were laughing and crying at the same time. (We are both a couple of cry babies when it comes to our kids.) There are so many things I could write about when it comes to our kids when they were younger - and some day I plan to do that. But, on this day, one specific Christmas memory is stuck in my head and I feel the need to share that with anyone who decides to read this blog.

This Christmas memory is about our son, Blake. He was quite a little boy. There was never a dull moment with Blake around, ask anyone who knew him back then. He was a character, but he was also very sweet and kindhearted and always wanted to make people around him feel happy. When he was just a toddler, he would drag out a little table that his Pappa Martin had made, put on his cowboy boots and cowboy hat, lay his little Bible on the table, and preach his little heart out. It was always the same sermon, "Feed my sheep! Feed my sheep!". I can still see him, pounding on that little table and saying that over and over and over. My Granddaddy Trafford always said, "Blake is going to be our little preacher in the family". We had no idea at the time that Granddaddy's prediction was right on the mark.

Now that I've given the backdrop of our "little preacher boy", I'll share this Christmas memory. It was the Sunday after Christmas, Blake was four years old. His Sunday School teacher was Mrs. Scruggs, our pastor's wife. Blake absolutely adored Mrs. Scruggs, and she felt the same about him. She always had something to tell us after class, usually about a profound statement Blake had made regarding the lesson. He loved to talk about Jesus and sing about Jesus. When the pastor would ask if there were any prayer requests, most of the time Blake would throw his little hand in the air. The pastor would ask Blake what his prayer request was and Blake would share it. It was usually about a friend or family member who was sick. I remember once he asked that everyone pray for a neighbor who was "just sad". He loved praying for Granny Garrett. He called her "Annie". Once the pastor asked him what his prayer request was and Blake said, "Pweeze pway fah my Annie, cause I shuwy do wuv my Annie". That one brought tears to some eyes.

That Sunday after Christmas, Blake was four, Mrs. Scruggs walked over to me after church. She had to share with me another "Blake moment". I was prepared once again to have my chest swell with pride by another "Blake is so smart or Blake is such a joy or Blake touches my heart" story from his Sunday School teacher. Mrs. Scruggs began to relay to me that the class of four-to-six year olds were so excited about their Christmas presents, she decided to let each one of them tell what they'd received for Christmas so she could move on with her lesson. One by one, the kids told about their various Christmas goodies. She said that Blake sat there very patiently waiting his turn to share. (I'm thinking to myself that he probably wanted to share his new Bible he'd gotten and maybe preach a mini sermon to the rest of the class.) Mrs. Scruggs said it was Blake's turn.

Without saying a word, he stood up, turned around, unzipped and dropped his pants, and bent over. He patted his little behind and said, "I GOT SUPERMAN UNDEROOS!" Mrs. Scruggs said it happened before she realized what was happening. She could barely get the story told because she was laughing so hard. Thing is, the rest of the class thought his Superman Underoos were so cool and made comments about them. Blake wasn't intending to be funny. He simply wanted to show off his new underwear. After all, these were the first character underwear he'd ever had. He'd always had to wear the boring, plain white ones in the past. The only one in the class who thought it was hysterical was Mrs. Scruggs. The other kids thought Blake had gotten such an awesome Christmas present and were very seriously telling him so. Mrs. Scruggs said Blake pulled up his pants, sat back down, and was beaming with pride. She pulled herself together and the lesson continued.

So much for our "little preacher" showing off his new Bible that we thought he had been so proud of. Who knew that out of his Christmas presents that year, the Superman Underoos would take priority over his new "big boy Bible". As parents, that was not one of our proudest moments, but it's a memory we'll never forget (and one his Sunday School teacher and the other kids in the class probably won't forget either.)