She was dressed as if for church in a small town in Iowa. Her young son, pretty much the same. Nice suit, white shirt, snappy tie and shiny shoes punctuated by a big brown briefcase that carried the religious tracts that they hoped to distribute among our neighbors and, I assumed, me.

I respect the right of anyone to believe anything they choose although I might not respect what they’ve chosen. And I suspect that would have been the case with these two dedicated believers had I been home when they rang the doorbell.

Instead, I drove by them on my way back to town and spent the rest of my journey wondering why they did it.

My assumption is that the mother is a fine and loving woman who believes she knows best for her son. There probably is a strong sense of pride in watching her child boldly and bravely walk up to each front porch, ready to proclaim his faith to whomever will listen.

I can’t help but wonder about the boy, however.

What must be going through his head as he travels about the neighborhood?

Once, long ago, I was a boy his same age and I remember that time as an exciting adventure of new discoveries. Life was filled with one surprise after another. Some were painful revelations and others were filled with great pleasure, but always it was an education.

By then I had a pretty good idea of what my folks knew and believed. I suppose I respected their advice and honored their counsel, but still I wanted to experience life for myself and not just go through it vicariously.

Frightened at times, confused at others, I was also exhilarated at the sheer joy of discovering what it really meant to grow up.

Arrogant I may very well be, but I grieved for that kid dressed up like an imitation grown-up. I grieved that he might be missing out on the great adventures of life, of exploring what to believe and why to believe it, of discovering the marvel of the mind and the miracles that can come when using it.

The tragedy of indoctrination is that it often kills the inquisitive spirit and strangles the searching soul. There are times when the best thing we can do for our children is allow them to explore, even down avenues that we might find foreboding.

There is no question that such freedom can lead to painful trials and even tragedy but such is the price of education.

These were some of the thoughts that I had as I watched the mother and son carefully make their evangelistic rounds.

Then I had a dream...or maybe it was a prayer.

In my prayer-dream, the boy took off his tie, stripped away his nice coat, kicked off his shiny shoes and took off running...with a laugh that was a precursor to a whole new life of discovery.

He didn’t, of course.

Not yet, anyway.