crisis of faith?

Margaret has been going to Sunday School. We go to a Lutheran church, although I am ambivalent about the particular beliefs of Christianity. I tend to consider church a good place for social interaction and service. Plus, I think it's useful for children to have a basic knowledge of some religion as a jumping off point for their own spiritual beliefs later on.

I was raised Catholic and therefore not encouraged to read the bible (or is it Bible) or memorize biblical stories. So when Margaret comes out of Sunday School yesterday talking about some boy named Ikea who stole the money and made everyone sad, I had no idea what she was talking about. To add to the confusion, she was carrying a picture of a fireman she had colored, and another of her classmates was carrying a picture of what seemed to be a Mexican man in a sombrero. Wes and I discuss it, but can't seem to figure out what the lesson was. Note to self...talk to her teachers next week.

So at dinner, Wes' parents were visiting, and they seem to recognize this story of Zacchaeus. Apparently, there is also a song. Who knew? So M is vindicated in her memory of this story, which I of course find impressive.

Later, thanks to my foolish choice earlier in the day to let Margaret wear shoes with no socks to church, she has a blister on her foot. I draw her bath, putting Johnson's soothing vapor baby bath in the tub for bubbles (it's what we have...believe it or not, it was a gift from one of the baby showers I had for Margaret and I'm STILL going through the many soaps and lotions I got then). BIG mistake. Apparently, the vapor bath is extraordinarily painful on wounds, which I guess I should have guessed, but I'd forgotten about the blister. And she started screaming when she got into the tub. Yes, the foot was hurting, bad.

Very little would comfort her, but I rinsed her with clean, cool water, then Wes held her while I found some antibacterial cream and a band-aid. While this was going on, Margaret wails, "I thought Jesus loved me!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but there it was. We assured her (stifling laughter) that Jesus did indeed love her, and moved on. How do you acknowledge such a crisis of faith in a 2-year-old? I don't know loads about Jesus, but he isn't the sort to make toddlers miserable. Misery just happens. It's life. I'm sure there are some who would point to my lack of faith as the cause of her misery, but really it was just my lack of considering what the baby bath would do to a blister. I wasn't laughing at her pain, but I guess at her conclusion that her pain was due to a lack of Jesus' love.

I've decided I should learn the words to that Jesus Loves Me song that Margaret loves to sing. I suppose it's the least I can do to support her journey of faith. I'd hate for her search to end so young, just because I can't be trusted to buy gentle baby bath.