Once a week I babysit for an adorable two-year-old.  I enjoy her immensely, especially since I am not responsible for raising her, putting braces on her teeth, buying her a car, or sending her to college.  Her four-year-old sister comes to my house once a week because she wants to learn Spanish—so she says.  Very little Spanish instruction occurs, however, because so many other things and rooms in my house interest her more, such as my musical instruments, my music boxes, children’s books, my bowl of pinecones, and apparently, learning Spanish requires a snack and I’d better have a straw for her drink.  Having observed the behavior of these two children and others for quite some time, I’m curious as to why God wants us to come to his kingdom as a little child.  Here’s the scenario I envision:

God:  Welcome to my home.  I know you will be very happy here.

New Girl:  What kinds of stuff can you do here?

God:  Pretty much anything you want.  You can read, paint, visit with old friends…

N.G.:  Is Tracy Kaplan here?  I haven’t seen her in a long time.

God:  Yes, she is!  Now you’ll get to visit with her again.  Isn’t that fantastic?

N.G.:  No.  She’s mean!

God:  Everyone gets along in heaven.  I’m sure it will be fine.

N.G.:  Well, my mom says I can’t be in the same room with her.

God:  Heaven’s a big place.  Maybe you’ll never run into her.

N.G.:  I’m hungry.  I want a snack.  Whatcha got to eat?

God:  Milk and honey.  Sounds yummy, doesn’t it?

N.G.:  Is it organic honey?  And do you have something other than milk?  I’m lactose

intolerant.

God:  We are not intolerant of anything up here.  Just try it.

N.G.:  Can it be chocolate?

God:  We’ll see.  Let’s just move on and get you checked in and get you your robe.

N.G.:  I want a pink one.  I like pink.

God:  Well, no, the robes are all white.  Everyone up here is dressed in white.

N.G.:  But I don’t like white.  I want a pink one.  Why can’t I have a pink one?  My

grandma would let me have a pink one.

God:  This is my house and you have to follow my house rules.  We all wear white.

N.G.:  I don’t like it here.  I want to go home!

God:  You are home.  You’ll see how wonderful it is here.  Just look around.

N.G.:  What are those people doing over there?

God:  Those are angels and they are playing harps.

N.G.:  I want to play the harp, too.

God:   Those are only for angels.

N.G.:  Then I want to be an angel.

God:  You are either an angel or a human being.  You can’t choose to be one or the

other.  Understand?

N.G. (crying):  I understand that you won’t let me have any fun up here.  (Stamping her

feet)  I want a harp!  I want a harp!

God:  If I let you play the harp for just a little while, will you stop crying?

N.G.:  Really?  I can have a harp?

God:  Not to keep.  Just to borrow.  We do have rules, you know, or used to. (Sigh)

God calls one of the Seraphim over and explains the situation.  The Seraph reluctantly relinquishes his harp, but the New Girl is already on to other things.

N.G.:  I don’t want a harp.  I want what he has (pointing to Gabriel).  Please.

God:  Oh, no, you can’t have Gabriel’s horn!  I’m putting my foot down on this one.

N.G.:  I said please!  You’re mean!  (Starts sobbing)

God:  Okay, maybe just one blow on the trumpet.  What else can I do to make you feel

better?

N.G.:  I need a bandaid.

God:  Done!

N.G.:  Make it a pink one.