When my daughter Bella was 6, now 13, I was putting her to bed and she asked me about Jesus coming back after a few days, just in time for Easter. After establishing that he came back after three days, she wanted to know three or four things. All I can remember of her questions were a) – did he smell like a dead sheep on Poppy’s farm when they died near the house in summer; and b) – I blame her sister her for this incidentally, “If he came back after three days smelling like a dead sheep, would he be a zombie and eat everyone’s brains?” all said completely seriously. Doing my best not to laugh her straight in the face, as she was asking genuinely concerning questions for her, I told he to ask my mother the next day when we saw her. Which she did. At the table. Over lunch. My dad pissed himself laughing and spat black tea on the floor, my mother, 40 year career in Catholic Education as a teacher, was jaw dropped stumped. Go Bella! I don’t remember what mum eventually said incidentally.
Groovy, click the groovy pic.!
Hamish, still with a dog at my heel.