“Daddy, why is the sky blue?”
Inwardly flinching, I gazed wonderingly into the sweet, cherub face of my three-year-old little girl. Behind those adorably cute blue eyes resided an insatiable curiosity that insisted on knowing every minuscule, little detail about every irrelevant person, place, or thing which I had absolutely no fathomable clue to even guess about.
However, having been well-trained (way back in my Little League days) to never show weakness in any shape or form, I nonchalantly pulled the covers up to her chin, taking extra care to tuck them securely in around her. Fluffing her pillow, I innocently asked, “What’s that sweetheart?”
This was of course the opening gambit of my time-tested maneuver to cleverly stall for that one extra second my overly-exhausted brain needed to inexplicably come up with an astounding, irrefutable answer to this ageless question.
But alas, the caffeine from my morning coffee had long since dissipated and my mental neurons failed to come up with even the slightest feint of an answer. This of course meant that I was now forced to adroitly scamper on to Plan B: The Distraction Ploy, another vaunted technique that had served astonishingly well over the past months. “Where’s Tigger? Is Tigger sleeping with you tonight?”
She pulled the ragged, stuffed animal into a suffocating embrace. Tigger didn’t seem to suffer overly much from this action, but it was apparent that he had, at one time or another, received some debilitating injuries in battle with the family dachshund.
“Why… is the sky… blue?” she asked again as sleepiness tugged her into its grasp.
I gathered my breath, an adrenaline rush of HOPE building inside me. “YES! She’s falling asleep; I’m off the hook on this one.”
I waited silently for a long minute wishing the Winnie the Pooh clock on the wall would tick just a bit quieter. Then softly kissing her on the forehead, I tiptoed out of the room.
Though my own reserves of stamina and endurance had long ago become deep, dry wells, I stared at the ceiling above my bed wanting desperately for sleep to bring some scant measure of sweet rest. But the simple question reverberated through my consciousness, “why Was the sky blue?”
My mind began to slow as the question bounced from corner to crevice, eventually surrendering itself into a peaceful slumber as the Answer was wordlessly painted across the landscape of my subconscious. What an Amazing thing! My Father in heaven had heard the prayer in my heart that I had not even formed into words. And the Answer was remarkably obvious!
Marvelously refreshed, I awoke the next morning just a little before dawn, excited beyond expression. I crept into my daughter’s room, carefully gathering her up in my arms, blankets and all – and yes, Tigger too. She mumbled something – another question no doubt – but she was not quite ready to be enticed to emerge from Never-Neverland. I gently carried her out to the back yard where the first light of morning was dutifully embracing its role as the harbinger of Day.
I jostled her just enough to cause one eye to stir, whispering into the voracious intelligence that there was something new to see, something new to learn. Tentatively, she opened her eyes to see the curvature of an orange ball pushing upward above the Eastern horizon, a fiery, burnt-orange color displaying vividly against a vibrant blue canvas.
I exulted in her crisp intake of breath, the flash of discovery, the wondrous utterance of an exclamation that wasn’t quite a word – and amazingly, NOT a question! Throwing her arms around my neck, she exclaimed, “Daddy! It’s so beautiful.”
Together we gazed in silent awe as the symphonic display of color gave loud, silent praise to its Creator. In a joyous moment, forever etched in gold plating, I pointed out the fluffy white clouds jaunting across the skyscape, joining the brightness of the sun with a harmonic accompaniment to its creation song.
My voice was a trifle husky when I whispered, “Little One, God painted the sky blue so that the radiant magnificence of the sun and the fresh whiteness of the clouds could give praise to their Creator every new morning and all through the day. Each new day, the Conductor in heaven composes a new theme for all of creation, remarkably the same, but intimately unique. And He has given each of us our own special part in it.”
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