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“My one-year-old walks up to me with arms outstretched. I can see it in his eyes. He is searching for something: approval, affirmation, acceptance. The kind that only a father can give. He is hungry for a father's love, for the Father's love. Either the laughter in my eyes, the smile on my face, and the strength and tenderness of my arms will tell the truth about God, or their absence will blaspheme the Father of lights. My son is reaching for me, and looking for God. My son, the theologian.” — Joe Rigney
My one-year-old walks up to me with arms outstretched. I can see it in his eyes. He is searching for something: approval, affirmation, acceptance. The kind that only a father can give. He is hungry for a father's love, for the Father's love.
Either the laughter in my eyes, the smile on my face, and the strength and tenderness of my arms will tell the truth about God, or their absence will blaspheme the Father of lights.
My son is reaching for me, and looking for God.
My son, the theologian.