Several years ago we were watching a friend’s son who was 3 or 4 years old at the time. He was having a hard time with nightmares. Shannon told him that whenever he woke up scared, he could just ask Jesus to come be with him, and Jesus would chase the scary things away. It was a very nice little moment – until his response.
“No, my mom gave me a magic whistle. Whenever I’m scared, I blow on my magic whistle and I’m not scared anymore!”.
My reaction was a mix between laughter and sadness – a magic whistle certainly is a creative solution from a parent, but sadness because for this boy, the idea of a magic whistle was much more helpful than the idea of Jesus actually helping. This is a family of reasonably regular churchgoing Christians.
And then it dawned on me. Admist the judgment that I was feeling, the pride that MY child would never be taught silly things like magic whistles – I realized that I have many of my own magic whistles.
I seek my own resources when our budget is tight, and if it gets way too tight, then we ask Jesus to help.
If I have a headache, I pop a couple of advils, and if that doesn’t work, we pray.
Of course, since this was several years ago, I have no more magic whistles in my life, and Jesus is my only supplier of power. Yeah, right.
pat loughery 
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