When our kids are not feeling well, they generally sleep in our guestroom - the bedroom next to ours where the "sick bell" (a wedding gift of my parents') can be easily heard in the wee hours.  The sick bell rests atop a side table constructed by my great grandfather from a barn beam.  Also there:  An clear acrylic cover over a Kleenex box featuring my mom's favorite pictures.  She decorated the box cover herself in 1973, and it sat by her bed on this very side table until it came to my house in 1998.

Rachel and I are allergic to everything.  I don't want to hunt for a "tissue."  I want a box of Kleenex within arm's reach all the time.

Julia's been sleeping in guestroom lately as we've both been fighting a cold - the gift that keeps on giving.  Last night, she asked about this box - and its pictures - for the first time.  We addressed her questions photo by photo as she turned the box in her little hands.  That pretty baby really is Aunt Judy.  Yes, my brother's arms and legs were sort of "broken."  No, I don't remember what kind of birthday cake it was.  Yes, my hair used to be very long. 

After we'd discussed all 15 pictures, she quickly flipped the box from side to side, pointing to everyone except my Aunt Mary, Judy, Carl and Sarah, saying, "Dead.  Dead.  Dead.  Mommy - where are they?"  So we talked about heaven, and whom I expect to see there including Julia herself because - as I explained - one day, I hope to hear her say that she, too, believes in Jesus.

She pondered that for a moment and then whispered in a small voice, "Jesus is not in a box." 

I was tempted to reach for one of those Kleenex.