I have a three-year old great nephew named Karter or, as he is called by his family, "Kar Kar."

He is a great nephew.

Karter is three years old. He is full of heart, soul, mind, and strength. All packed into a small but powerful frame. Karter lives with his family--Kevin and Marci, Andrew and Selah; dad and mom, brother and sister--in Midland, Texas.

Karter is occasionally asked to give thanks for the meal. His prayers are a precise reflection of the desires of his little boy's heart. And the cadence and length of his mealtime prayer is directly proportional to the hunger in his tummy.

Saturday morning's breakfast was late, and Karter's stomach was growling.

"Karter, would you pray?"

"Yes!" Karter answered, no doubt thrilled to have the power to keep it brief.

Karter looked about the table and named everything in sight with the speed and force of an automatic weapon.

"Thank you for Bubby."

"Thank you for Sissy."

"Thank you for Daddy."

"Thank you for Mommy."

It's the same order every time.

"Thank you for my cup."

"Thank you for my food."

"Thank you for my plate."

Pointing to each item in turn.

"Thank you for my fork."

Even as the words escaped from his mouth, he picked up the fork, examined it intently and--with obvious disappointment--boldly declared:

"Hey...I didn't want this one! Aw man!"

Followed by silence, and then...

"In Jesus name, Amen."

As we gather at the table with our families this holiday season,  

may we be grateful for our forks.

Even that one.