In our tent, Mom had just kissed her sleeping one-year-old son goodnight as the moon was suddenly erased by a hovering dark cloud. The same moon had been pointed out for the first time ever by this little one's observant finger just sixty minutes earlier. The valley was calm then and we had it to ourselves.
It could be the closest Elliot will ever again be to another bolt of lightning. The bolt, traveling at 60,000 miles a second and burning three times hotter than the surface of the sun, had all of his mom and dad's attention. It was close and frightening. And how the thunder roared through our valley and among the mountains. Power and God was in our midst. Twilight was ushered away while pouring rain and, as Dr. Seuss says, a convincing "Boom Boom Boom!" undoubtedly proved we were not alone in the valley anymore.
Yet the boy slept peacefully between his mom and dad. He did not notice the serious explosion outside our tent. Not this time.
Elliot will soon ask for an explanation for lightning and thunder. He will want to know who made the lightning. He will want to know who put eight fingers and two thumbs on his hands. He will want to know whose idea it was to store milk in cow udders. He will want to know who designed his bleeding elbow to hurt, clot, scab and heal.
And next May, Mom will be smiling while tears roll down her cheek after her two-year-old boy tells her for the very first time he loves her.
"Don't tears mean you're sad mommy?" He will have serious questions.
We must not diminish a child's curiosity or hastily give them a quick reply. Nope, if we don't answer these questions in the wonder our children asks them in, we are forgetting the splendor of our existence. His pondering is profound. If we would strive to tell them everything we know and everything we don't know, we will guide them to a growing gratefulness for existence. Life is precious; precious is serious. The answers are easier if we teach our children the God of lightning, fingers, udders and scabs is serious. He is serious about us, about love and He is serious about having all of our attention. He is serious about worship, redemption, truth, goodness, joy and everlasting life. God is serious because He went all out. He seriously made everything work together for good. Shouldn't we be continually grateful for respiratory systems, endorphins, gardens, hands, glands and the glans? Amidst the storm in the valley the other night, our tent, dry inside, was full of serious excitement. Ought we not have serious excitement for everything given to us? Should we not have the mind of a child?
Who made the spectrum of colors? Who allowed us an appetite so we might enjoy food? Who selected the variety of trees, ordered the seasons, built a weather system and implemented the science and production of never-to-be duplicated snowflakes?
Only a seriously excited God rips the Rockies with His electricity in an otherwise sleeping forest.
Will we teach our kids to see their scabs and worship their God in heaven?
