When I was growing up, in a lot of ways my older sister was my mentor. Don't misunderstand me, she picked on me sometimes, and did other things that I didn't agree with, but she helped me to understand some things that would not otherwise have been evident to my young mind.
Some of it I don't really think was intentional. When I was a preschooler, she challenged me with mathematics. Of course, this was done more in the attitude of, "I learned this in school, and since you haven't started school yet, you don't know how to do it. Nyaah, nyaah,” but the end result was that I learned basic mathematics before I started school.
Some things she clearly did out of a sense of watching out for me. I remember walking through a cemetery one time and making a stupid comment. I don't remember exactly what I said, but something along the lines of, "I'm just a kid. I don’t have to worry about dying. I won't die until I'm old." She challenged me to look around at the tombstones and see if I could find any markers of people younger than me. I found several, and it didn't take long, either. Granted, a lot of those were infants that had probably been born with health problems and hadn't lived to their first birthday, but some were kids that had just died for one reason or another. That was a real eye-opener; I started taking my own mortality much more seriously after that.
Another time she became concerned that, when asked to bless the food at dinner, I recited a rote prayer as quickly as I could. She asked me if I could explain the prayer to her. I had never really thought about the meaning of the words before. In retrospect, I'm a little surprised that she was able to keep from laughing at my attempts to explain this little prayer that I had memorized (apparently phonetically). When I tried to break it down, the words that I was trying to explain were, "Goddess great, goddess good, lettuce sankim for our food. Amen." For some reason, it had never registered with me, until she asked me, that I was praying to a goddess instead of to God. I knew I wasn't supposed to be praying to any goddess...
Another time she noticed that, when we went to church, during the time that some of the congregants came into the sanctuary early to pray for the service, I mostly just goofed around. That may have been distracting to some of the people that were doing what they were supposed to be doing; that may even be the real reason why she did what she did. She tried to impress upon me the importance of prayer, but I didn't see the need. Praying for service didn't make sense to me, because service was going to happen whether I prayed for it or not. The idea that I might get more out of it if I prayed for it didn't make sense to me, partially because I wasn't aware that I was getting anything out of service (although perhaps if I had prayed about it, I would have received something from service). I didn't feel like I needed anything from God (boy, I wish I could get that feeling back in my life, but I guess that's really just the bliss that comes from ignorance—I’m still ignorant, just not as ignorant as I was). This was during the cold war, so finally she tried to at least get me to pray for that. Even then, I did not, at first, see the need. The USA and the USSR had been at a standoff for years, with neither one seeming particularly inclined to attack the other, even though people on both sides kept worrying that the other side would. Finally she told me something outrageous: She told me that the Soviets had come over the North Pole, and had captured Detroit. That got my attention. I'll tell you something else, too, that got me praying, and I prayed hard. I was afraid to even look at the news for the next several days, because I knew that most of the coverage would be about the Soviets occupying Detroit. Eventually, though, I looked, if only to find out if my prayers were being answered. Much to my surprise, I found out that the Soviets were no longer in Detroit, and, what's more, nobody else seemed to remember Detroit even being invaded. That taught me an important lesson about the power of prayer.
In retrospect, it also teaches an important lesson about “childlike faith.”
Some of it I don't really think was intentional. When I was a preschooler, she challenged me with mathematics. Of course, this was done more in the attitude of, "I learned this in school, and since you haven't started school yet, you don't know how to do it. Nyaah, nyaah,” but the end result was that I learned basic mathematics before I started school.
Some things she clearly did out of a sense of watching out for me. I remember walking through a cemetery one time and making a stupid comment. I don't remember exactly what I said, but something along the lines of, "I'm just a kid. I don’t have to worry about dying. I won't die until I'm old." She challenged me to look around at the tombstones and see if I could find any markers of people younger than me. I found several, and it didn't take long, either. Granted, a lot of those were infants that had probably been born with health problems and hadn't lived to their first birthday, but some were kids that had just died for one reason or another. That was a real eye-opener; I started taking my own mortality much more seriously after that.
Another time she became concerned that, when asked to bless the food at dinner, I recited a rote prayer as quickly as I could. She asked me if I could explain the prayer to her. I had never really thought about the meaning of the words before. In retrospect, I'm a little surprised that she was able to keep from laughing at my attempts to explain this little prayer that I had memorized (apparently phonetically). When I tried to break it down, the words that I was trying to explain were, "Goddess great, goddess good, lettuce sankim for our food. Amen." For some reason, it had never registered with me, until she asked me, that I was praying to a goddess instead of to God. I knew I wasn't supposed to be praying to any goddess...
Another time she noticed that, when we went to church, during the time that some of the congregants came into the sanctuary early to pray for the service, I mostly just goofed around. That may have been distracting to some of the people that were doing what they were supposed to be doing; that may even be the real reason why she did what she did. She tried to impress upon me the importance of prayer, but I didn't see the need. Praying for service didn't make sense to me, because service was going to happen whether I prayed for it or not. The idea that I might get more out of it if I prayed for it didn't make sense to me, partially because I wasn't aware that I was getting anything out of service (although perhaps if I had prayed about it, I would have received something from service). I didn't feel like I needed anything from God (boy, I wish I could get that feeling back in my life, but I guess that's really just the bliss that comes from ignorance—I’m still ignorant, just not as ignorant as I was). This was during the cold war, so finally she tried to at least get me to pray for that. Even then, I did not, at first, see the need. The USA and the USSR had been at a standoff for years, with neither one seeming particularly inclined to attack the other, even though people on both sides kept worrying that the other side would. Finally she told me something outrageous: She told me that the Soviets had come over the North Pole, and had captured Detroit. That got my attention. I'll tell you something else, too, that got me praying, and I prayed hard. I was afraid to even look at the news for the next several days, because I knew that most of the coverage would be about the Soviets occupying Detroit. Eventually, though, I looked, if only to find out if my prayers were being answered. Much to my surprise, I found out that the Soviets were no longer in Detroit, and, what's more, nobody else seemed to remember Detroit even being invaded. That taught me an important lesson about the power of prayer.
In retrospect, it also teaches an important lesson about “childlike faith.”
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