Recently, my mom and dad came to visit. They insisted that we go to church with them on Sunday.

My wife and I do not normally attend services. It is not that we don't enjoy going to church. It is just that most churches do no offer much for children who have special needs.

Rather than make the attempt to explain all of this to my parents, we decided we would take them up on their offer, and go with them.

When Samantha heard the news, she was excited beyond belief. As we loaded up into my parents Grand Cherokee, Samantha was talking about how we were all going to go where Jesus is. Both mom and dad were quite taken with Samantha's excitement, and I could feel the "daggers" they were sending in my direction... for my not having taken Samantha to church on a reular basis.

As we pulled into the parking lot of the church, Samantha shouted with glee..."CHURCH...WHERE JESUS IS...SAMANTHA GOING!" - again, the "daggers" from my parents, as we walked across the lot.

After finding a pew, the congregational singing started...the pastor welcomed everyone...took the offering...then, began his sermon.

Until now, Samantha had been content to watch the service unfold in relative silence. But, having come to see Jesus, she could no longer sit and quietly listen to something which held no interest for her. Without warning, she suddenly inquired, "Where Jesus?"

In all the excitement, I had failed to explain to my father that, when it comes to religion, Samantha is not a Baptist...she is a "literalist". He had told her that he was going to take her to where Jesus was...and now, Samantha expectd him to make good on his promise.

Samantha, taking our silence as simply not having heard her, decided to ask again...this time, increasing the volume. "WHERE JESUS?", she hollered.

Before long, it became quite apparent, to everyone in the building, that Samantha expected to have her question answered. It did not help that people had begun to steal glances in our direction...glances that quietly suggested that we do something to quiet our child.

The furtive glances of the regular "Sunday-go-to-meeting" bunch provided the answer to Samantha's question. Being a loving father, I could no longer sit and ignore my daughters inquiry.

"Jesus isn't here today, Sam!", I announced loudly.

My parents did not wait for the service to end before leaving. As we drove home, in silence, I could not help but wonder whose message did more for the church. The pastor's...or Samantha's.