I live with my own personal four year old petitioner/investigative reporter. He asks what seems like a 1000 rapid fire questions throughout the day:
Where are you going?
Can I see?
Can I have arcoons (translation: cartoons)?
Can I go to Mimi’s (grandma)?
Can I go to Mickey’s (other grandma)?
Can I go outside?
Can I have a sandwich?
Can I have juice?
Can I (play) fight with you?
Can you fix my train/car/airplane/transformer/monster truck/etc?
Where’s Gid (brother)?
And maybe his favorite default question of all, said with boyish wonder:
I’m sure I’ll miss his little inquiries when he becomes a quiet self-confident teenager who believes his pops is out dated and irrelevant. Questions are the mark of humility: as a small child, Josiah knows he doesn’t know the answer to many questions and he trusts someone else to give it to him (me!).
Unlike this fallen impatient dad, the heavenly Father always loves to have His sleeve tugged on, to be incessantly implored, to be uncompromisingly interrogated by His adopted children. He wants us to keep asking, seeking, knocking, and ringing the doorbell like an overzealous girl scout.
Amazing isn’t it? As a whiny son with trivial requests I take this to heart:
God the Father through the blood of His own Son wants to be annoyed by our prayer requests.