On this Thanksgiving, what you won’t see is my son standing beside me, arm around my shoulders. It’s probably because he’s wearing his new (at the time) Army-issue digital desert fatigues; very effective camouflage.

Last October, I was counting the days until his homecoming from Ramadi, Iraq. He was within three weeks of his return date when I got a call from his mother-in-law. Her, “The first thing you need to know is Joel’s OK …” set my heart to racing. His unit had been hit by a mortar and he’d been wounded.

My daughter-in-law was on her cell phone to Fort Campbell, trying to get more information, and her mother was relating everything to me, as we prayed and tried to comfort each other long-distance. The upside was, he got bumped to the front of the line and made it home a few days earlier than originally planned. The downside, he lost a little hearing and some short-term memory, and carries a few pieces of Ramadi embedded in his forearm.

I flew to Tennessee to celebrate that Thanksgiving with him and his family and several members of his unit who had nowhere to go for the holiday. We circled the living room, joining hands in a prayer of celebration for their return. It was fun seeing the young men interact with my 10-month-old grandson. One of the guys asked what I thought of CJ. “He’s wicked cunnin’,” I said. He laughed and said, “You sound just like Joel!” That got me thinking about the whole heredity vs. environment debate.

I went back to Tennessee in June for an extended visit. I was getting ready for church when CJ wandered into my room. He was 17 months old then, and very busy exploring the contents of my suitcase. After I finished brushing my hair, I pulled the accumulated strands from the bristles, tossed the brush onto my bed, and started braiding my hair. CJ picked up the brush, held it with the flat side to his head and rubbed it back and forth, causing his baby-fine hair to stand up like a dandelion. Then he patted the bristles with his chubby little fingers, threw the brush on the bed, and ran out of the room to go play with the cats.

What sponges little children are! We can be sure they’re watching and listening to us, whether they appear to be paying any attention or not. That ought to be enough to keep us on our guard – to present them with the kind of behavior we want to see in them as they grow.

I remember a neighbor’s little boy of about 3, stomping in a puddle in his driveway and yelling at the top of his lungs, “Gawdammit!” Pretty soon his mother shouted out the window, “Stop your God-damn swearing!” I wonder where he is today.

We’ve become an oxymoronic society: we wrap our kids in bicycle helmets, elbow- and knee-pads so they won’t hurt themselves while learning to ride. We monitor what they eat so they won’t have synthetic hormones or nonorganic ingredients in their food. But when it comes to spirituality, it’s all about letting the kids choose for themselves.

The Bible says, “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6). If we, as parents, neglect Bible study and church attendance, our kids are going to assume it’s not important. And if the kids of today don’t learn anything about God as children, what will they have to fall back on as adults? No God, no peace. Know God, know peace.

The greatest lesson we can teach our children? “Jesus loves me, this I know; for the Bible tells me so.” The greatest gift we can give our children? The love and security of an extended church family whose prayers will follow them all the days of their lives. I’m so blessed to be part of a church family that exemplifies this. Our congregation recently received a plaque from the 1/506th Infantry of the 101st Airborne in appreciation of our prayers and support while they were in Ramadi. A grateful prayer of Thanksgiving goes out to all our troops who unselfishly serve and protect.

Fifteen years ago my son gave me a mug with a Boynton cat on it that reads, “I’m so glad you’re my mom, and I think you’re happy that I’m your kid. Mostly.” I am. Thank you, Joel.

Brenda J. Norris is assistant Sunday school leader and choir director at the West Lubec Methodist Church. She may be reached via bdnreligion@bangordailynews.net. Voices is a weekly commentary by Maine people who explore issues affecting spirituality and religious life.