What Lies Within

My son is in his Superman stage. A vital phase of a boy's life, in my opinion. He has the cape and the pants and, according to him, the X-ray vision.

"You'd better be good," he told me, "or I'll get you."

Point taken. Nowadays, I'm on my best behavior around the house.

He also has the T-shirt. The cheapie kind, bought on sale. Hold it up to the light and you can see right through it. Which may or may not be where he gets the whole X-ray vision thing from. But it has the "S" on the front, and that's all he needs. And the fact that the shirt is so flimsy actually comes in handy. He can wear it under most anything.

And he does. Under pajamas and church clothes and sweaters and even other T-shirts. There. Ready at a moment's call.

My son looks forward to the minor catastrophes around the house. Have a drink spilled? Out comes Superman. Lost your keys? Don't worry, Superman will find them. Find a bug or a spider? Such things flee from the Man of Steel.

It's quite funny, really. Watching him scramble out of whatever shirt he has on to reveal the Superman shirt underneath is very entertaining. And somewhat dangerous. He flung himself into the wall yesterday trying to get his sweater off. The remote control needed new batteries, you see.

Even now, however, I see on the horizon a coming problem.

His Superman shirt is fraying. Which tends to happen after daily wear and a few dozen washes. Added to the fact that he seems to be in the midst of a growth spurt, I don't know how much longer the shirt will fit.

What comes then? Another shirt, most likely. Then, later, also a lesson.

My son will one day find the truth: he isn't Superman. And he'll one day discover that his father isn't much of a Superman, either. But he'll also find that the God he prays to at night, the one in heaven, is also inside of him. And that the God who lives in his heart can actually allow him do some amazing things in this life. Oh, nothing so fabulous as X-ray vision. But something more practical, like seeing the truth of things. He won't be able to lift cars, but he will be able to lift spirits. He won't be faster than a speeding bullet, either. But he will be able to take the shots life dishes out and stand up again.

He may not be more powerful than a locomotive, but he'll know that God is more powerful than anything he may face.

And he'll know this: in this life it isn't who you pretend to be that counts, it's Whose you are.