Last week, I decided to take my grandchildren out for a simple dinner at a nearby restaurant, thinking it would be a quiet, uneventful meal. The kind of evening where we could laugh, eat, and enjoy each other’s company without much fuss. My six-year-old grandson was especially excited, chattering on the way to the car about the menu, desserts, and how he wanted to sit next to me so he could reach for the ketchup without asking. We arrived at the restaurant, and after being seated at a table large enough for our little entourage, we settled in, chatting about school, cartoons, and weekend plans.

It was a typical evening—or so I thought—until my grandson, looking up at me with earnest eyes and a polite, almost shy smile, asked if he could say grace before we ate. I chuckled softly at his seriousness and nodded, proud that he wanted to pray. The rest of the table followed suit, bowing their heads as he clasped his small hands together, ready to speak.He began in the sweetest, most innocent voice I’ve ever heard, words tumbling out with a mixture of sincerity and childlike honesty. “God is good, God is great.