I love my children. God knows I do. BUT, lately I've been wondering if all children come with an incessant stream of questions. "Should I...? Can I...? Where do...? Have you seen my...?" I'm not talking knowledge-seeking questions. Just your average chatter to keep the quiet at bay. Did I mention the blatant abuse of Salutational Pronounian proportions? "Hey Dad... Hey Keith... Hey Dad... Hey Keith...".
People, there are days where it seems as if the only declarative sentence I hear from my kids is "I dunno." Help me somebody!
One morning I prayed for less questions and better coping skills, only to walk smack dab into gale force questioning. I'm thinking, ok God... I get it. If I pray for better coping skills, you present opportunities to practice better coping skills. That's it... right? (At least that's how Morgan Freeman explained it in his role as God in Evan Almighty.)
Just then, the inquisitive virus struck me. I found myself asking a few rhetorical questions of my very own. "So God... is that how you feel when I bombard you with questions that I already know the answer? Does it frustrate you? Do you ever grow weary of my small talk?"
I didn't hear God's answer. I didn't have to. Roses carry the scent of love. Greeting cards convey the language of love. A kiss transmits the feeling of love. But patience? Patience IS Love... divine love at that. Love is patient. God is love. God is... and you and I are too.
So, my dear Kenneth and Madison, keep those questions coming. I really am thankful that you think I know daddy stuff. Truth is, this Dad is still learning the divine simplicity of fatherhood from our heavenly Father.
Thank you God!