Last night was our church Thanksgiving potluck. We had an amazing turnout. The "official" count was 162 which was more than we had in church yesterday morning. It was delicious and not only did I fill my belly with turkey, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, and more, my three-year-old gobbled (ha ha--I crack myself up) it all down also--which was a real testament to its tastiness. Except the mashed potatoes. He gagged three bites down because I made him. My incredibly strange son still hates mashed potatoes.
After our meal, we had a time of worship and sharing the things we're thankful for. The Rock Star was frolicking around near his dad so my husband stooped down and stuck the microphone in his face. Without warning or prompting of any kind, Troy asked Garrett what he was thankful for. I held my breath, fully expecting that he'd say toys or candy or something even more horrendous like his epic toots.
With a sweet little voice, my firstborn replied, "Jesus."
Troy smiled and said, "What else?"
The Rock Star paused for a few moments and finally replied, "My whole church."
Good answers, son. Good answers.