The other day I was loading the kids into the van, and the way that works is the big kids get into their seats in the very back row while I put Elijah in, then I come to other side and sit on the folded down middle seat while I buckle the two of them in the back. I was in the process of doing this and was working on securing Aaron’s Britax when Mercy proclaimed: “Mommy, you are Pastor Erika now.”
While that terminology may have been used at times in Los Angeles it was not frequent or consistent, and someone here in Seattle must have used that title while talking to Mercy about her mom.
“Yes, Mercy, that’s right. I am Pastor Erika here.”
She looked at me with a big smile as if the idea of that made her proud.
“And Mercy,” I added looking intently into her eyes, “you could grow up to be Pastor Mercy someday.”
Her eyes widened and she flew out of her seat and into my arms. “Oh, thank you Mommy.”