"Good. You're awake," my youngest son pronounces in a voice at least ten
decibels louder than I would ever care to hear this early in the morning.
It doesn't help that his mouth is just inches from my ear.

"Nate," I mutter thickly, "I smell sugar. Have you been in the sugar?"

"Nope, I made you a surprise."

The words "I made" cause my heart to beat a bit faster. If I'm just waking, and
Gary already left for work, then Nathan had no supervision while he "made"
whatever it is he made. I assess the possibilities. Did it involve a glue gun?
paint? a chainsaw?

"Oops!" Nate says. Two soft, round orbs bounce off my head and onto
the pillow. "I'm spilling your surprise."

I turn my head and stare at the two marshmallows on my bed. "You made me
something with marshmallows?"

"Aren't you exited?" He lowers the plate I hadn't noticed him holding high above
my head. It's big, heavy and stoneware--and I am suddenly thankful to be hit by
marshmallows and not the plate itself.

"It's breakfast in bed!" He plops the plate onto my unprepared stomach, spilling
another marshmallow.

I sit up slowly and survey the feast. "Oh, Nate you shouldn't have!" I mean it more
than he could ever know. There they are--all his favorites, sitting right on my plate.
A handful of chocolate chips next to a handful of jellybeans. Two tootsie rolls. A
graham cracker with a dollop of whipped cream (artfully done, I must add). Six
sugar cubes. And, of course, the marshmallows.

"Oops! I forgot your coffee! I'll be right back." He scampers out of the room,
leaving me to ponder his gift.

The first realization I have is that we need a lock for the baking cupboard. The
second--and more sobering--thought is that I have to eat some of this stuff or Nate
will be disappointed. I weigh my options as I hear footsteps returning. I quickly
scoop up the jellybeans and deposit them in my pillowcase.

"Here you go!" He sets a mug on my nightstand and watches proudly as I pick it up.

Ahh...morning coffee, I think naively. Maybe I can get through this. And then I
take the first sip. Ahh...yesterday's coffee, I correct, shuddering from the impact of
ice cold liquid slithering down my throat. Of course it's from yesterday. What had I
been thinking? Nate doesn't know how to make coffee yet. I make a mental note to
teach him how, right after . . . breakfast.

He rounds the bed and hops onto the other side. The water bed does a roll,
and I precariously balance the coffee and the heavy plate. He's going to
watch me take every last sip and nibble.

I have to find a way to get him out of the room. "Uh, aren't you going to have
some?" I ask hopefully.

"Already ate. It's good, isn't it?"

"Oh, . . . yes, Natie. But you know, it's really the thought that counts, don't you
think?"

"What's that mean?"

"It means that . . . well, the best part of this breakfast is the fact that you took the
time to make it, and . . . it's not the eating part that's so special, it's the . . . uh . .
.the . . ."

"Hey, what's this?" A few renegade jellybeans roll out of the pillowcase.

"How'd those get there? I ask lamely. "Must have slipped off my plate somehow."

"I'll get 'em for you, Mom."

And he does. Every last one. As he settles in to enjoy my predicament, I begin the
task. I take a bite. I "ooh" and "ahh." I fight the revulsion. And try hard not to laugh at him.

I am touched at this thoughtfulness, but I am also surprised. Hasn't my darling son
been watching me every morning of his four years? Doesn't he know me better than
this? Mornings for me consist of coffee, and maybe more coffee, but almost never
food, well maybe some home made cookies, upon occasion!

I am struck by a thought. These thoughts are definitely spiritual, for I would never
think them of my own accord. Do I ever give God breakfast in bed? Not in the literal
sense, of course, but more figuratively. Do I ever load His plate with all my
favorites, and beam with pride as I offer it up to Him? Do I know Him well enough
that I offer things pleasing to Him or do I only offer gifts I find pleasing or
delightful?

The thought makes me squirm a bit, and I wonder--what will I be loading on His
plate this morning? Well, I know I have a full day ahead. First off, I have to teach
Nate how to make coffee. Then I have a writer's group meeting at ten. I need to go
to the post office. I have recycling to drop off. . I want to get at least a bit of exercise
in there somewhere. Then the other boys get in from school. Oh, and a quiet time.
Hmmm . . . I review my list and all the "I needs" and "I wants" pop out at me.
My quiet time nearly suffocated under all the other "have to's."

But, Lord, I began to argue, these aren't frivolous things. It's good that Nate learns
new skills, and . . . and the bills need to get to the post office, and the house does
need to be looked after . . . and . . . You want me to recycle, don't you?

Heaven is silent. He must be choking on one of my marshmallows. Hurry and
swallow, Lord--I need You to tell me what You'd rather have this morning.

"Hey, Mom--how come you're not eating?"

I had nearly forgotten my little breakfast warden. "You know, honey, I'm getting so
full. How 'bout if we save it to give to Daddy when he gets home?" Heh, heh.

"Yeah! He'll love it!" He scoops up my plate. "Want the rest of your coffee?"

"No, no!" I respond a bit too forcefully. "You can take that, too."

He starts for the door. "Are you glad I made you breakfast in bed, Mom?"

"Oh Natie, I'm gladder than you could know."

"Well, I was going to make you new coffee, but I didn't know how."

"That's okay, Nate, 'cause you know--it's really the thought than counts. But I was
thinking, maybe we can do something about that. How about if later today I teach
you how to use the coffee maker?"

"Yeah!" He's excited. "But let's do it right now!"

I consider for one second explaining to my son that God is waiting for His breakfast
in bed, but I think better of it. "Later, honey. I promise."
The door closes, and I'm left alone.

Yes, I muse, the thought counts--but the gift matters too.

I drop to my knees. . .