One night I lay awake, worrying about my four-year-old, Jason. He was away from home for the first time at a friend’s sleepover. Just then, I heard a noise I hadn’t heard in months. We used to hear that sound every night. A pair of owls had roosted in a tree outside my son’s window, and they called back and forth. To me, their whoo-hoo, whoo-hoo was comforting. But it terrified Jason.
I read him stories about owls, pointed out where the owls lived and explained the hooting was “just birdies talking.” But nothing calmed his fears. Finally I suggested, “Let’s talk to Jesus about it.”
Jason eagerly agreed. “Dear Jesus,” he said, “I’m afraid of the whoo-hoos. I know they have to live in a tree, but could you keep them in a tree by your window? Thank you. Amen.”
There wasn’t a single hoot all night! The same thing happened the next night. Jason prayed and we didn’t hear a peep. Weeks stretched into months, and I assumed the owls must have found a new home.
Until now. How funny, they came back the one night Jason was away, the one night I needed heavenly reassurance my son was all right.
The following night, Jason was home again and the whoo-hoos were silent. I wasn’t surprised. God’s window is big enough for him to keep an eye on my little boy and me.
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