"Daddy Sunday"

In my church, we dedicate the first Sunday of each month as a special day for fasting and prayer, as well as giving what we would have spent on food to the poor. In a recent article in a church magazine, I learned about the idea of a "Daddy Sunday." Basically, each fast Sunday is an opportunity to have a personal interview with each of my children, talk to them, listen to anything they want to talk about, play with them, and have a prayer with them. When I read the article, I felt the inspiration of the Spirit that this was a good thing for me to do with my own children, and get the habit started while they are still young. So I tried it today.

Not a whole lot of talking went on. My oldest wanted to play with a phonics book that we have, so we went over a number of the words in there. It's amazing how well she is learning to read. She will be well prepared for kindergarten in the fall. My son chose to play Candyland with me. We didn't exactly play by the rules, but it doesn't matter, because we had fun. My youngest (almost 20 months now) didn't have much to say, but did enjoy playing with a large sombrero that we have around the house. I put it on my head, and then she came and took it off and put it onto her head. When she came to get it, she said, "Hat!"

I really enjoyed the experience. It's nice to have a dedicated time when I can spend one-on-one time with my children, and teach them things as directed by the Holy Spirit. Hopefully they will learn that they can talk with Daddy about anything. Although this may not be super-critical now, it may well be when they get older. I love my children, and I want to be there for them as much as I am able.

One other unrelated event. My son has a very good aim with balls, fortunately. He finished dinner before the rest of us and got down. Unbeknownst to anyone else, he picked up one of the super-bouncy balls that we have around the house. I was calmly eating my dinner when I heard the ball bounce on the floor. As I turned to look, I saw the ball arc across the entire dinner table and land on the far side on the kitchen floor. I am glad that he threw it hard enough to clear the table, rather than landing in the dish of baked beans in the middle. That would have been a mess. Although I am pleased with his growing sporting skills, I firmly requested that he never repeat the stunt. There is a time and place for that sort of thing, and the dinner table is neither the time nor the place!