The Questions of a Child
She gently climbed upon my lap,
A nine-year-old with curly blonde hair,
Waking me from a pleasant nap,
And said, “Daddy, I want to know why.”
Tearing sleepy cobwebs away,
Her words echoed through my groggy head,
My dear one, What was that you said?
I said, “Daddy, I want to know why.”
Why did Jesus die on the cross?
Why did God choose to live everywhere?
Why do we say the Lord’s prayer?
Why do you kneel with me when I pray?
With questions of what, how, and when,
So simple and yet very intense,
I pondered how could I begin,
These questions went beyond common sense.
I realized how unprepared,
Just how shallow my understanding,
About things I tritely declared,
And, woefully, left some answers pending.
I spoke to God about my pain,
And prayed that He would forgive my faults,
Help me ne’er to falter again,
To tell my child what the Bible taught.
These questions aren’t easy at all,
Answers aren’t to be taken lightly,
Children don’t want to be stonewalled,
So tell them lovingly, tell them rightly.
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