Thirty years ago, before the law mandated car seats for toddlers, we buckled our four preschoolers into three rear seatbelts whenever we went out in the car.
One Easter Sunday morning we scurried to get everyone ready for church.
With scrubbed faces and slicked hair, the three boys looked deceptively angelic in their dress shorts, button-up shirts and clip-on ties, while our daughter was decked out in frills and bows.
I directed everyone to the car while I ran to grab my Bible and piano books.
Sliding into the front seat, I briefly scanned the children’s faces to make sure they were still neat and clean.
Everything looked good, so we headed to church.
My husband pulled up in front of the sanctuary door to let us out. Like ducklings in a row, my kids spilled from the car.
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