Last night, the Ryan family had a bedtime revival.

It was Easter, and the end of a wonderful but exhausting Holy Week. Every night last week our church had a Resurrection Awakening service (read: Revival) with some of the most fabulous preachers and musicians we’ve ever hosted. The kids and I attended when we could, but Jason was there every night. It was a week of long days, late nights, rushed meals and crazy schedules, so when Sunday evening bedtime finally came, no one even protested.

We gathered as we always do in the bedroom that our two oldest boys share and read the first chapter from the brand new Jesus Storybook Bible they had received earlier in the day. Normally, we’d jump straight to prayers, hugs and lights out, but this evening called for something more.

It called for reflection.

“We’ve been talking all week about Jesus and Easter and what it means to be a sinner and need Jesus in your heart,” Jason said to four squirrelly bodies as they rolled and wrestled on the bottom bunk. “Is that something that any of you are ready to do?”

The two youngest ones, Solomon (2) and Adelle (4), both shot up their hands. “ME!” Solomon is always ready for a party, so his eagerness should be taken with a grain of salt. Adelle, however, has been asking questions and initiating deep, spiritual conversations all week. She was as ready for Jesus as any four-year-old could be.

It was the two older ones, however, who needed a little more urging. At 8 (Gideon) and 6 (Canaan), they had already mastered all of the “churchy” answers to what it means to be a Christian. But their shy, hesitant, analytical personalities have kept them from making any decisions.

Jason and I have been praying for our children since before they were born. We’ve talked to them about Jesus individually and collectively and have prayed over them, with them and about them as much as any parent can. In addition to the salvation emphasis they’d experienced the previous week, they had also witnessed three of their cousins be baptized recently, and we hoped that something would finally “click” in their sweet, young, sinful hearts.

So we took turns, once again, talking to them about the Lord. We talked about sin, heaven, hell, Jesus, the Cross, temptation, the Holy Spirit, baptism and meteorites crashing to the Earth (that one was from Canaan, whose mind is as easy to chase as an electrocuted cat on steroids).

After all of their questions were answered and their uncertainties were addressed, we invited them to make a decision. Jason led them in a prayer of repentance, and our three oldest children prayed to accept Christ as their personal savior!

I wish I could write that what came next were fireworks of excitement or the audible sound of angels singing in celebration. I wish I could write that their eyes looked brighter or that their faces reflected a subtle glow. I wish I could say that our family mysteriously felt different.

But I can’t.

What came next wasn’t feelings or fireworks or fanfare; it was simply bed time.

As their mother, I wished there was some kind of visible confirmation that the words they whispered with their mouths were also being shouted from their hearts, but God just reminded me of the time I prayed to receive Him.

I was young, like they are, and bowed my head in the middle of children’s church and silently accepted Christ without anyone knowing. I remember looking up afterward to see if anyone was looking. Did I look different? Could they tell what I’d just done? Had I been too obvious?

No, no one knew that my life had just changed for eternity. Only God knew my heart, and that was enough.

Only God knows the hearts of my kiddos too. Is Adelle too young? Did Gideon really mean it? Did Canaan feel pressured? These are the questions that rolled around in my mind as I went to bed last night. But God didn’t give me answers to my questions.

Instead He gave me peace, joy and an incredibly full heart.

How did you feel when your child(ren) accepted Christ?