Setting: Pancake house, Sunday morning
Danny wakes up, complaining about how tired he is. He's so, so, so tired that he can't even walk to the kitchen table for breakfast. His dad finally carries the exhausted, tired, tired boy to the kitchen where Danny can barely keep his head up while he eats his "Cookie Crunch" cereal.
Danny spends the rest of the morning whining and complaining about how tiiiiiiiiired he is, how he can't move his legs, they won't work, because they are so, so, so, so tiiiiiiiiired.
The moaning and groaning intensify when I inform Danny that it is time to get dressed. This is when he claims that his legs are paralyzed and that he is unable to take his pajamas off, let alone put clothes on his limp and lifeless body.
Danny: I'm soooooo tired mom! I can't go to church! I can't MOOOOOOOVE!
Me: Just take off your pajama bottoms; it's time to go to church.
Danny: I can't! I don't want to go to that Jesus Church, anyway.
Me: So, what church do you want to go to, then?
Danny: (after some deliberation) I want to go to a Lego Church!
Cut to three hours later upon arrival home from church. Danny runs at top speed to his bedroom, where he flings off his clothes and hurriedly dons his pajamas, with no assistance from anyone. With more energy than a litter of puppies, Danny dashes around the house, gathering up Legos and playing with abandon. He can scarcely tear himself away from playing long enough to eat lunch.
I'm tempted to point out to Danny that he has just proven to me the value of our church attendance, that he has, as my dad would say, "Pooped in his own nest," so to speak.
After all, before church this morning, Danny was crippled, but now he can walk. What else could be the cause, but the miraculous healing powers of church?
I'm thinking Danny might not agree.