Heard this story from a lady at church named Nora who told me that Jireh was a little spitfire. I agreed, but wondered how she knew. She related to me this story:

Last week Nora was introduced to some of my kids, including Jireh.

Today Nora was drawing a blank on Jireh's name so she asked her, "What was your name again?"

Jireh replied, "It's the same as it was last week: Jireh."

Her sister isn't happy with her "crunchy" egg, so she offers, "I'll eat it!"

She accepts the plate, chooses the fork she wants ("the smaller one") and sets it beside her.

"Do you want pepper and salt?"

"No," she says. "Just salt."

She puts out her cupped hand for the salt, then carefully brushes her hands together over the plate, not dropping a grain of salt anywhere but the egg. 

Before she digs in, she says, "Pray to the Lord!" and folds her hands and bows her head, then softly mumbles along as we say the prayer before meals. 

By the way, I'm talking about Agnes (age 2).