Selective hearing

We were trying to wait patiently for Abby to finish up at VBS. But waiting patiently does not come easily to the four-and-under crowd.

We sat in the balcony, in the back, so as not to be a distraction to the other kids and parents. Because my kids can be a little distracting sometimes.

Levi was craning his neck around me and trying frantically to climb out of the baby carrier on my back to see what was going on. Jacob was making a bridge out of pencils in the back of the pew in front of us. And Caleb was testing every square inch of the pew we were seated in to see which part was the "squishiest." (And I use the term seated lightly.)

I was convinced my eldest son was not paying a lick of attention. I could be certain, because my vocal instructions were apparently totally inaudible. The crawling and wiggling continued, despite my warnings to the contrary.

Gradually, the music quieted. My children's laughter did not. I did my best to shush them, but found that I had become not only inaudible, but invisible to them as well.

Then the leader spoke up from the stage below us.

"Let us pray," he announced.

I was suddenly aware of the total lack of movement next to me. I looked over to find Caleb completely still and silent, head bowed, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap.

He stayed that way for the duration of the prayer, then said his Amen and resumed his wiggling.

This kid never ceases to amaze me.