For the past few months Grayson has described God the same way. "Mommy, he has tall wavy hair that is tan. He is wearing a blue shirt and blue jeans. He is wearing glasses and brown shoes."
My mom and I joke that only a member of our family would see God as John Lennon.
But yet, the descriptors are always the same.
"How do you know what he looks like, Honey?" The scientist in me has to prod.
"Because I see what he looks like."
"You see God in front of you?"
"No, Mommy. Not in front of me. He puts that picture of him in my mind."
"Do you still talk to him?"
"When do you talk to him?"
"Like when something is frust-er-ating. I ask God to help me."
"And does he?"
"Yes. I get to figure it out after that."
"That must be nice, to be able to have such a big helper all the time."
"Yes, Mommy. You should ask him for help too. It is less monies than coffee."
"You're right, Grayson. God is way less monies than any latte in the world. And much more effective. You're a smart boy, I'm very proud of you."
And just like that, I am once again schooled by a kindergartner.