Last week, I took my grandchildren out for dinner. It was meant to be a simple, quiet meal. Before the food arrived, my six-year-old grandson looked up and asked politely, “Grandpa, can I say grace?” Of course I said yes. Everyone bowed their heads as the little boy clasped his hands together and prayed:

God is good, God is great.
Thank you for the food… and I would thank you even more if Grandpa gets us ice cream for dessert.
And liberty and justice for all. Amen.”

For a moment, the restaurant was silent. Then soft laughter spread through nearby tables. But one woman nearby wasn’t amused. “That’s what’s wrong with this country,” she muttered loudly. “Kids today don’t even know how to pray. Asking God for ice cream? Why, I never.” My grandson’s face fell instantly. Tears filled his eyes as he whispered, “Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?”

I reassured him he had done a wonderful job. Just then, an elderly gentleman walked over, winked at my grandson, and said warmly, “I happen to know God thought that was a great prayer.” My grandson looked surprised. “Really?” “Cross my heart,” the man smiled. Then he whispered playfully, nodding toward the complaining woman, “Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul.”

At the end of dinner, I bought the kids ice cream. My grandson walked over to the woman, set his sundae in front of her, and said politely, “Here, this is for you.” Then he added quietly, “Ice cream might help you feel a little happier.” And just like that, the whole restaurant fell silent again