I stood in the upstairs hallway, looking down over the banister and waited for the younger children to come in for their baths. My oldest daughter, taking a piano lesson, was in the living room directly below, and the repetitive melody she was playing echoed through my mind.

Suddenly the little ones bounded through the front door. They bounced up to their rooms, cheeks flushed and eyes bright from their play. I noticed, however, that one of my young sons was trudging slowly up the stairs, his head bowed, grubby hands covering his small, dirt-streaked face. When he reached the top, I asked him what was wrong. "Aw nothing," he replied. Then why are you holding your face in your hands?" I persisted. "Oh, I was just praying." Quite curious now, I asked what he was praying about. "I can't tell you," he insisted, "because if I do, you'll be mad." After much persuasion I convinced him that he could confide in me and that, whatever he told me, I would not get mad.. So he explained that he was praying about a problem with his mind.

"A problem with your mind?" I asked, now more curious than ever, wondering what kind of problem a child of six could have with his mind. "What kind of problem?" "Well," he said, "You see, every time I pass by the living room, I see my piano teacher, and my tongue sticks out." Needless to say, it was hard to keep a straight face, but I took his problem seriously and assured him that God could, indeed, help him with it.

Later, on my knees beside the bathtub as I bathed this little fellow, I thought how I still struggle with the problem of controlling my mind and my tongue. That afternoon as I knelt to scrub that strudy little body, the tub became my altar; the bathroom, my temple. I bowed my head, covered my face, and acknowledged that I, like my son, had a problem with my mind and tongue. I asked the Lord to forgive me and to give me more and more the mind  and  the heart and attitude of Christ.

  Author: Gigi Graham Tchividjan  Phillipians 2: 1-5 

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