Answering Children

When our children were small, I used to write down some of the things they said because the things they said were so funny and cute. I recorded the most when they were around three and four years old, because that’s the sweet spot when simple logic, creative grammar, and limited vocabulary all come together in fantastically surprising ways. Like the time one of my children asked to see “the belly friend” and I didn’t know who that was but it turned out that the belly friend was the ice cream man—which does make a lot of sense when you think about it. Or when I was asked to pretend that I was real (a question some philosophers would probably love to dig into) or the time one of them asked me to stay with them because they wanted to be alone. Then there was the entrepreneurial child who asked if I’d let him sell our family car for €55 (I didn’t).

Sometimes our children simply didn’t know the right words to use. Sometimes their words highlighted how far they were from understanding themselves or the world around them. Other times their emotions were so strong that they ran out of words entirely, gave up trying, and let their tears do the talking instead.

And I, as their father, listened. I loved our sometimes-convoluted conversations, because I loved them. Yes, of course I wanted to help them learn to express themselves well with correct vocabulary and grammar and understanding of themselves and the world and all of that is important—but I never would have dreamed of loving them less or refusing to listen to them no matter how much they struggled to express themselves.

I’m not the only one who feels this way. Romans 8 tells us a glorious reality about the identity of those who belong to Jesus: “For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God.” Those who trust and follow Christ are God’s adopted children. And how does this identity impact the way we speak to God? Paul says, “…by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”” We can speak to God himself as a child speaks to their father. Not flippantly, or careless about who we are speaking to, but rather confident of his care for those who belong to him. And how does our Father hear us? As a good father hears their child. Paul says, “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” In other words, even when our language is confused and garbled, when our understanding is lacking and our words won’t come out right and we can’t make sense and our logic and grammar and vocabulary are all falling to pieces and we don’t even know what to say even if we could say it right—even when all we have left is tears to talk through—even then, he hears and answers and stoops down to help us to pray. Of course he does.

He’s our Father.