Some of our deepest conversations happen while floating face up in the hot tub. Senia Mae and I ponder life’s philosophical questions, some of which I have the answer to and some that I don’t. Yesterday, completely out of the blue, her question was, “Who made Jesus?”
“God made Jesus,” I said.
“And who made God?” Senia Mae asked.
“I don’t think anybody made God, he just is. God is the father to all of us,” I said without much consideration. Senia Mae thought about my answer, her inner brain circuits rapidly firing away.
“Oh,” she said as she smiled back at me, “then I DO have a father.” I exhaled slowly, aware that my second biggest worry, “how are you going to explain that she has no father?” was being brought to the surface.
“Yes. God is your father,” I said, relieved the conversation was flowing somewhat effortlessly. My partner and I had discussed what we would tell Senia Mae when the time presented itself… when she finally popped the big question,”Who is my daddy?” The plan was to inform her that her uncle gave us a special “present” because making a baby requires a specific recipe, and we were missing one ingredient. In the end, the important part was her understanding that nothing had changed, we were still her mommies.
A few moments went by and I wondered if I was going to face any repercussions. We had already sailed through three years of preschool with no real issues. When others asked about having a father, Senia Mae always thought nothing of it and replied, “I have two mommies.”
Our pastor offered to fill the role when her school had “Donuts with Dad.” Senia Mae decided that she would rather go to Dunkin’ Donuts with her mommies. But I knew someday the question would go deeper. Would it be today?
“I am glad that God is my father… but I am really glad that I have two mommies,” Senia Mae said as if she could sense my apprehension. She gently slid her body onto my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck.
Senia Mae’s face was nuzzled so deeply into my hair that she couldn’t see the look of utter relief on my face, thankful that our wonderful, loving child is so remarkably well rounded. I looked up to the sky and whispered the words, “Thank you, Jesus.”
Originally published on The Significance of Having Curly Hair.
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