The first coherent line ever spoken was ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

This Sunday we got to teach the kiddos about Jesus walking on water. The lesson involved a craft where each kid got to cut out his or her own Saint Peter and glue/tape him to a popsicle stick. Once this was accomplished, they could each individually reenact the Biblical scene by using their Saint Peter-on-a-stick and moving him between a drawing of a boat and an illustration of Jesus walking on water.

The girls, by and large, took the lesson seriously, while the boys seemed to get the most entertainment out of making dear, old Saint Peter sink dramatically to the bottom of the Sea of Galilee.

Obviously, some got more out of the story than others.

Cut to the end of the class when, while packing up their completed crafts, Bible versus, etc., the students started stating the following:

"Where is my Peter?"

"She touched my Peter!"

"His Peter is on the floor!"

"Whose Peter is this?"

"Uh, oh! I broke my Peter!"

"When I get home, I am going to play with my Peter!"

Good thing that the kids were too busy packing up to notice that their teachers were all laughing so hard they were crying. And even if they had, none of them would have understood WHY we were laughing. You gotta love six and seven year olds.

And that, my friends, is why Trevor and I might not be mature enough to teach Sunday School.