My son asked that question one day as we were pulling into the driveway. "Why do you ask?" I said, responding to his question with a question because a) I wanted to understand what prompted the query and b) I was stalling. Somehow, our stuff seems to multiply from the moment we leave the house to when we get back home, and my mind was focused getting a 5-year-old, a 30 lb toddler, three bags, two sippy cups, one diet coke can, the dry cleaning and a random assortment of toys out of the car and back inside. "Well," he continued. "I asked God to make me fly. And he didn't."
I resisted the urge to sing that song by the Rolling Stones. I explained the Wright brothers had beaten him to it. I told him how Mommy and Daddy sometimes say no, but that we still love him and want what's best for him. I added that as fun as it sounds, a little boy zooming through the trees would end in disaster. Or make him Peter Pan. Fortunately, that didn't come up. And then I paused. I realized my son didn't ask me why he couldn't fly. He asked me something else.
So I smiled and said, "Yes, Dillon. God hears you."
Sometimes all we need is to feel like our voices are heard.
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