You ask the best questions.
I’ve written poems composed almost entirely of the questions you have asked me throughout the years.
Recently you asked, “How did Adam and Eve know how to speak if nobody taught them?”
It felt like the question came completely out of the blue: we were sitting down to lunch, I was skittering around as I typically do, getting all the random things to the table for a somewhat-balanced meal alongside our mid-day read aloud books, and out popped your question, before we even prayed.
Mom, how did Adam and Eve know how to speak if nobody taught them?
But then, as I began to unravel an answer for you, I realized the question wasn’t really out of the blue.
Last week, we read a biography of Helen Keller and talked a lot about what it would be like to learn to read or write or speak if you couldn’t see or hear. We talked about how grownups constantly point and name things for babies, and I mentioned how many times a day you ask how to spell something or what a particular word means. Just last week, we witnessed two women talking in ASL during lunch at Evans Orchard while we worked on our blind contour drawings of zinnias. We talked about what it means to be created in the image of God. We talked about John 1:1, that in the beginning was the Word. And that the Word is God.
In our house, girls, we talk about words a lot (like a lot a lot). We talk about the power of words and why words matter.
What I’m saying is, this question shouldn’t have surprised me.
No questions really should surprise me, I guess, but still I am always a little surprised at the connections your sponge-like brains are making between the things you are learning and the things you are doing and the things your dad and I are saying and the books we are reading.
And I was surprised that as we sat down to lunch, you might be wondering about Adam and Eve and how their brains worked.
I hope it is always the case that your dad and I work to cultivate a question-asking environment here in our home. And I hope that when you ask questions, we take them seriously, and we answer them.
So, when you surprised me with your question, I did what I always do. I looked you in the eyes and told you that you asked a great question. And then we dug in.
There are rarely simple, straightforward answers to your questions. Because, let’s face it, there are very rarely simple, straightforward answers to problems. That’s what life in this complicated and beautiful and broken world is. Beautifully complex.
And it’s worthy of questions.
Which is really what I mean, after all of these words. Keep asking, girls. Just keep asking.
We’ll keep answering.