As we walk the halls I point to the pictures of Jesus and say His name. We walk, and I wonder why I'm there in the first place. What is the point?
Last Sunday Paige and I were shut in the Relief Society room at my in-law's ward. Paige was getting tired, climbing and falling off chairs, and I finally pulled her into my lap. She lay in my arms and her tiny finger points to something behind me.
"Jesus," she says, in her immature language.
I turn around.
There He is, arms outstretched in a painting behind me. "Yes, Paigey. Jesus."
We walk the halls through nap time and suffer through tantrums during Sunday School because they are already learning. On Sunday, you go to church- not when it's easy, not when it's convenient with your schedule, but every week- because that is how they learn that it is the most important place they will be all week.
They comprehend more than we think they do.