Snack in the Grass

Back in the fall, we were determined to find a place where Olivia could freely explore the ways her personality operates within a school’s social and educational structures. We were mindful about finding a preschool that wouldn’t squash our daughter’s spirit, but when her first one did just that, we switched her to a nearby church’s school where she’d eventually be awashed in the Holy Spirit. As I’ve mentioned before, Beni and I, as religiously ambivalent souls, hadn’t really considered parochial options for our child, but through chance or divine inspiration, Olivia’s ended up here, and we’re mighty thankful for that.

Along the way, we’ve had some moments of mirth and merriment that have occurred from what could be called inseparations of church and estate, such as when she insisted over dinner in our kitchen that Jesus was a girl. Or when she closed the door to her room (something she never does) to pray for all the things in the world—she started with the things in the room (underwear, books, toys) before moving on to big-ticket items (Mommy & Daddy, Max, family, friends, candy). Or when she pointed to the sky while we were playing in the backyard to ask how Dr. King got up to heaven.

Olivia’s preschool commemorated the last day of a fruitful school year by playing host to a lunch on its front lawn—a garden of eatin’, if you will—where we got full on fruit and other picnicky fare.