Theology of a 5-year-old.

From the ages of about five to twelve I would always pray the same prayer every night. It went exactly like this:

Dear Jesus, Thank you for this day. Thank you that I could have a good day today. Help my mom, help my dad, and help all of the things we do. Help me to be safe during the night and help me to have a good day tomorrow. In Jesus' name, Amen.

I was obviously quite a theologian in my younger years. I had the following figured out about God and life:

1. God was only deserved of thanks for Good things. I once felt guilty of my Thank you that I could have a good day today line because sometimes I didn't really think I had a good day, and I really wasn't thankful. Luckily, another fine theologian told me that any day God allows us to wake up is a good day. Phew!
2. God was in the business of Helping, and the word Help covers a multitude of services. Such as: providing finances, healing, and anything else that is Good.
3. As long as my mom and dad were Helped everything else must be Good. It's not that I didn't want my brother, sister, or grandparents to be Helped, but if Mom and Dad were OK, everything was right with the world.
4. He doesn't need our requests in detail. Help all of the things we do basically covers everything, right? See, I was already a developing journalist. Short. Sweet. To the point.
5. Except for The Night - it was something to be feared - and something that actually required a detailed request for Help.

This prayer has always been in the back of my mind. But recently, in a fit of fear, I found myself actually praying it out of some sort of habit. Particularly the last part, Help me to be safe during the night. When I was younger I and I was afraid I would just repeat that part over and over and hope it worked.

Now, I'm 23. How silly - help me to be safe during the night? Pft! But, alas, living alone will make you imagine and believe crazy things. For example, I once convinced myself there was a family of Russians/Mexicans/Chinese/Insert UnAmerican Nationality Here living in my basement. It's completely logical: there's a separate entrance, I NEVER go down there, therefore strange things involving foreigners must be going on. Luckily, I was proven wrong when my father came for a visit and I made him check for me. Score: Jenn 1 Foreigners in Basement 0.

More recently I convinced myself there was someone living in the attic. Again, I've never been in the attic, but the strange noises coming from up there MUST mean that there is a creepy man with a video camera recording my every move. (Note To Self: Stop watching CSI.) I tried to conquer the fear on my own. I tried to tell myself I was crazy. That just made me more crazy. It finally climaxed two nights ago when I couldn't sleep. Help me to be safe during the night, Help me to be safe during the night... Everything I heard was The Man In The Attic. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I had to call in A Man. This lucky man happened to be Bob, a friend's husband. Bob is basically the greatest person ever, and I knew my pride could be somewhat salvaged with Bob. So, yesterday, flashlight and manliness in hand, Bob ventured to The Attic. I had visions of Bob being attacked. I had visions of Bob never coming back down from Up There. I had all kinds of visions. There's a part of me wishes there was someone up there. We women call this Validation. But, alas, and ultimately to my relief, there was nothing. Score: Jenn: 1 Man In The Attic: 0.

It's interesting. In a time of growing up I sometimes feel myself regressing to child-like tendencies. Being afraid of the dark, getting scared when Mom and Dad can't come to your rescue. But, that's what growing up is - leaving those things behind. So I'm trying. I'm learning. And, look at the score - I'm winning! (With plenty of Help from God.)