The Theology & Sentiments of Baby Worship
by Chene Heady
My quarrel with Precious Moments products began early. My mother charted the course of my childhood on an endless series of Precious Moments Psalms calendars, and I hated every one of them. She hung each of the calendar’s incarnations in the kitchen, over the burn-spotted patch of yellow linoleum adjacent the oven.
So when, as an awkward ten-year-old, I dropped a set of dishes, a knee-high shepherd and his herd of dog-like sheep were smugly looking on. When, as an angst-ridden teen, I sulked over my black tea, a joyfully noisy toddler with a badly dented trumpet was standing over me in judgment.
I was a biblically astute, if not abnormally happy youth, and was perpetually annoyed at how our calendar simplified the Psalms. Never would I see a toddling Davi . . .