My son is telling me about a dream he had last night.
It has a long and winding plot.
I am only half listening.
Then I hear him mention my name and I pay closer attention.
I am in danger I hear him say.
I immediately interrupt him.
I think to myself he hates me because I make him brush his teeth and that is why I am going to die in his story.
He tells me to stop interrupting and let him tell the story.
He finishes and in the end he saves me.
This is a story about his bravery I think.
This is also a story about him not hating me for making him brush his teeth.
Later though, I realize this is really a story about my life.
How I keep interrupting God when I’m fearful.