My daughter and I have a (mostly) nightly ritual. She calls it “talk time.”
That’s when, while I’m tucking her in, I stretch out next to her—hip to hip, cheek to cheek—and she gets to dictate the conversation. Some nights it’s talking about her fears, anxieties, or worries. Some nights it’s talking about her wins and excitements. And some nights it’s asking questions.
Last night was a question.
The question she asked is one I actually have historically avoided. Why? It always felt forced. It felt like one of those things you had to answer, even if you din’t actually have an answer. And so it never felt genuine.
The question? “Daddy, what’s your favorite Bible verse?”
That’s the quintessential “Christian” question, isn’t it? You’ve asked it before. Heck, I’ve asked it before. And if someone answered that without spouting a reference and said something like, “You know, I’m not sure. God hasn’t really revealed that to me yet,” be honest: You’d be a little…surprised.
So for most of my life…
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