conversation with mya

Mya: "Mom, when you die, can I have your clothes?"
Me: "Sure Mya."
Mya: "And your shoes? Especially the black high heels?
Me: "Of course Mya."
Mya: "And how about those pink ones you never wear?"
Me: "Sure.
Mya: "I want all your things because I know they will make me think of you."
Me: "I hope you'll think of me."
Mya: "I sure hope you don't die, but if you do, I will really look beautiful."

Mya and I talk a lot about dying these days. She has so many questions, mostly about life, death and God. She always asks me why she can't see Him, and she wonders why he lets some people die or why he lets some people live without homes or why he lets some people live without body parts.

I don't pride myself on being an excellent mother. I have far too many foibles to ever be listed among the greats, but I do think I do one thing very right with my girls--I talk to them about everything. I try and explain the reality of things while still shedding some hope on each and every subject. I involve God in every deep (and simple) conversation because I want her to see how very connected He is in all the tiny details of our lives. I want her to know Him better than I do.

And she does. She already asks me to say special prayers with her when she has nightmares or when she is particularly concerned for one homeless man we frequently see on the street. She is very impressionable at the moment so I am just letting her soak everything. We sort as we go, and I believe she will come to understand things in her own time.

For the moment, I am just so glad that she's thinking about things. I feel honored that she truly believes I am the most beautiful woman on the planet. She tells me daily how beautiful I am and how lovely my outfit is. She encourages me to expand my boundaries and break a few rules. She is really something.