The last parade had rolled. Bleary eyed we sat in the pew waiting for ashes and forgiveness. She sat next to me coloring in her own little world; a world where sin is sneaking a cookie before dinner. We listen to the Word: “Be not like the hypocrites…” thoughts of dinner and laundry interrupting the well worn verses. She whispers loudly in the way that only a child can “who are the hypocrites?” I shush her; in the way that only a mother can. She whispers even louder urgently even, “BUT WHO ARE THE HYPOCRITES” She is not just listening like the rest of us. She is hearing The Word of God. She needs to know who they are, so she can be sure she is not like them, Tears flood my eyes. My throat closes, chest tight. I kiss the top of her head, but I cannot answer. I cannot even whisper it softly, because the answer is I am them, baby. All of us are. But not you, Not yet. Be not like them, my love. Keep listening.