indoctrinated

We go to church on Sundays. And, often, we help lead the singing (I sing, Dyami plays bass). Lucy loves this time. "Singing? Practice? Church?" she asks, every day. When it is finally sunday, she rejoices.
Once on the way home from church, I did a little Theology lesson. "So, Lucy. When we sing at church, we sing about God. God is our Dada."
"God. Dada."
(Me: am I needlessly confusing my child? How do you explain the Immovable Object to a toddler?) "He's everyone's Dada."
"God. Dada."
"And we love him, so we sing about him."
"God. Singing."
"And we pray to him, too."
"Pray."
I thought about mentioning Jesus, and throwing in the Holy Spirit, and then I decided I'd save that for next Sunday. Or maybe later, like when she was six. Or thirteen. Because my mind was boggling. ("See, there's God the Father, and he's also his own kid, and sort of a Ghost, as well. Can you say "incarnation?")

Conveying faith to a child seems hard. No, actually: conveying theology to a child seems hard. Faith, I imagine, gets transmitted in the daily stuff we do, like worship, and prayer, and fellowship and worship. But the ideas about God, well, I still haven't figured them out for myself, much of the time. And theology is so confusing, even if it's really important to know what you believe, and why. Because ideas make a difference, even if they don't transfer to a felt board very well.

So I was pleased, and surprised when Lucy mentioned church yesterday.
"Singing. Church. Jesus. Lord."
Well, yes.
Maybe this indoctrination thing won't be as hard as I thought.