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I'm the perfect role model for my child—well, at least in my fantasies. Reality proves differently. I am often the poster parent for poor behavior, and my son is the GameBoy–playing, gum–smacking, sneaker–wearing moral compass pointing me to the truth. Here are the top five truths I've learned from the greatest Bible teacher in my home, my nine–year–old son, Jordan.

One spring, with Easter quickly approaching, Jordan began asking questions about the Resurrection as I was driving him to preschool. Realizing he thought Jesus was rising from the dead for the first time this Easter Sunday, I tried to correct him. I pulled the car over and told him the entire Easter story. I was proud of myself for remembering all the details.

"So you see, Jesus rose from the dead a long time ago and now he lives in our hearts."

"Ohhhh," Jordan said knowingly, but his honest reply followed, "I still don't get it Mom."

Unsure how I could make it any clearer, I decided to bring in outside support. "How about we stop at the Christian bookstore? I saw some books on Easter when I was there last week. We'll get one and read it together," I replied.

"Can't we just read the Bible?"

I didn't see it coming, this spiritual knock–out punch by a preschooler. Jordan's question made me realize I was trusting outside sources to translate God's truth into bite–sized nuggets we could swallow. What I should have been doing was trusting God's Word.

Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation (1 Peter 2:2).

Jordan sat in front of our television set, mesmerized by a cartoon. When I walked in, his concentration broke and he said, "Did you call me?"

"No, I just came in to do the laundry."

"Did you call my name when I was in the shower?"

"No, I didn't say anything."

"Oh. Then it was God."

That caught my attention. I put the laundry down and sat next to him on the floor. "What was God, honey?"

"When I was in the shower, somebody said 'Jordan, Jordan,' and it sounded like God."

"What does he sound like?" I asked.

"He has a deep voice."

"Could it have been the thunder? There's a storm outside," I replied.

"Nope, it was God," he said confidently, his faith unshakeable. "Besides, God doesn't sound like thunder."

He was sure he had heard God's voice. I began to get nervous.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Nope, just 'Jordan, Jordan.'" With that, Jordan ended the conversation and returned to his cartoons.

I fidgeted with the laundry and tried to convince myself that he had heard the thunder, the TV, or even some sort of storm–related power surge. As I talked myself into other possibilities, I realized that instead of celebrating Jordan's faith, I was trying to share my doubts. If God had spoken to him in the shower and Jordan believed it to be so, who was I to persuade him differently? Then a thought occurred to me: What if God had been calling me?

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