The Gospel According to Seuss

When my son Rowan settles on a favorite book, he likes to read it five, six, ten times in a row, night after night after night. Most recently it’s been The Lorax. I glimpse him heading toward the bed, cornflower blue cover of The Lorax wedged under his arm, and I grit my teeth and commence meditative breathing.

I admit, I don’t love Dr. Seuss. All that silly rhyming and nonsensical tongue-twisting syntax. The googly-googs and the moodly-woobs, the wiffle-wambas and the schissle-schambas. It’s all just too much for me. Really, after a long day of work and dishes, laundry and homework, epic dust-bunny battles and sorting stacks of mail and backpack debris, I’m expected to perform linguistic cartwheels, too? I’ll be frank: I’ve been known to slide The Lorax, Green Eggs & Ham and The Birthday Bird beneath the dusty, crumby underbelly of the couch, where no man or child dares go. I’ve also carted a few in the Seuss oeuvre to the Goodwill. Let some other mother, the one with infinite patience and a more limber tongue, deal with Thing One and Thing Two.

I've learned, though, that The Lorax has a few lessons to teach me about faith, believe it or not. Join me over at Ginny's place to find out more...