When my oldest was two, I played the saxophone in a praise band for an evening church service of singing. We didn’t practice during the week, which meant we arrived an hour early and worked to be ready. I always brought my son along, and he played with cars or crayons in the pews, waiting for the hour before the service began.

One night when Chris was traveling, Casey was playing quietly and still had crayons out after the service had begun. The pastor was sharing a story with which he was familiar, so I tried to draw his attention away from his toys, “Did you hear what he is teaching? Do you remember that story? I wonder what happens next.”

Casey looked up at me with those adorable 2-year-old eyes and puffy cheeks, put a finger to his lips and said, “Shh. Mom, it’s his turn to talk and our turn to listen.” He then went back to coloring quietly.