September, 1997

Robbie likes to play pretend. Pretending is very serious business for a three-year-old boy. When he becomes Darth Vader or Freakazoid or Daddy, Robbie becomes that character one hundred percent. You much call him by his correct name when he is pretending, and woe to you if you don’t know who it is that he is pretending to be! You must act as he tells you to act in your role. If Darth Vader tells you that you are Luke Skywalker and you have to cross light sabers with him, then by golly you’d better.

A few weeks ago, Robbie became God.

We sat at the dining room table eating lunch when Robbie said to me, “I’m God.”

“Well Robbie, you’re not God, but God is inside you,” I replied.

“No Mommy,” he said. “I’m God.” He paused a moment. “And you aren’t my Mommy now, because I’m God. I’m your father.”

I bit my lip then, wondering whether to nip this game of pretend in the bud or whether I should just play along for a while. I finally decided that I could intervene if Robbie approached blasphemy. Having no ready reply to his last pronouncement, I sipped my water.

“I’m having dinner at your house now, just like you have dinner at my house, at the church. Except you put peanut butter and jelly on the bread at your house. God likes peanut butter and jelly.”

“I’m glad you like your peanut butter and jelly, God. How’s your milk?”

“My milk is very good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. Robbie looked so intently serious that I didn’t dare to laugh, but it was getting harder.

“See that purple car out there?” Our minivan was in the shop for repairs, so the dealer had loaned us a purple compact. “That’s my car.”

“The purple car is your car, God?” I smiled.

“That’s right. God has a purple car. But you can drive it while your van is at the van store.”

“Thank you, God.”

“You’re welcome. I like purple cars. I brought this purple car for you from heaven. Do you like purple cars?”

While we discussed purple cars, I noticed that Robbie was eating the middle out of his sandwich, but leaving the crusts behind. “Do you not like the crusts?” I asked him.

“No, God doesn’t like crust on his peanut butter and jelly. I like Cheetos, though. Can I have Cheetos with my peanut butter and jelly?”

“I’m sorry, God, but I don’t have any Cheetos here right now.”

Robbie muttered, “God gets Cheetos with his peanut butter and jelly in Heaven!”

Oh God, how I have failed you! I took another sip of my water so I wouldn’t laugh.

Robbie finished his lunch and stood. “I’m all done now. God’s cleaning up his plate. God always cleans up his plate. God is very good.”

Indeed! We cleaned up and walked up the stairs for naptime. I asked Robbie to please go potty first.

“Wait!” he held his hand up. “I hear something!” I stood silently as Robbie cupped his ear and leaned down the stairs. “It’s Jesus! Jesus needs me! He’s my son. I will go help him.” He ran down the stairs calling “Jesus! I’m coming! I’ll be right there!”

I climbed to the top step and gave in to the giggles. When Robbie’s head appeared at the foot of the stairs, I locked down the laugh and asked “Is everything all right?”

“Mommy,” Robbie started, then remembered himself. “No, you’re not my mommy – I’m God. Jesus is okay. He just needs to go potty. I’m his daddy; I’ll help him.” Robbie climbed to the top of the stairs and went into the bathroom. “Shh,” he said, holding a finger in front of his mouth. “Jesus wants me to close the door.”

I sat in the hallway, pondering the theological significance of Robbie being both Father and Son at the same time. When would the Spirit appear?

A voice cried from the bathroom, “Jesus had an accident!” With fears of seeing an upset little boy with wet pants, I opened the door. Robbie was wiping up a spill from a small cup of water. “Jesus spilled the cup,” Robbie said. “He will be more careful next time, right Jesus?” Apparently Jesus gave the correct answer, because God didn’t lecture him any further.

Then it was time for a nap, so I tucked little God into his race car bed and kissed him on the forehead.

“I don’t have to say prayers, because God doesn’t say prayers. But I will give you a blessing. God bless Mommy.” God kissed me and hugged me and snuggled into his bed for a nap, leaving me bemused by God’s very real presence in my son.