"I think you were talking to the Lord." With evident satisfaction he admitted that he was.
Two days after this he came into my study while I was reading a book and put his hand on my knee. Giving my knee a hard shove, he said:
"This isn't papa, is it? This is papa's body." My book went out of the way in a hurry, I can assure you, and there was a dear little upturned face smiling, which said, "We are spirits, aren't we, papa?" Never after that did he refuse to pray.
Some years ago a successful minister, about forty-five years of age, consecrated, eloquent, and revered by his people, asked me how I conceived of God when I prayed. The conversation revealed the fact that he was struggling with all the questions that troubled the little boy. This unhappy condition was due to the fact that theology begins too far down the stream, leaving unanswered and unconsidered the best questions of all, the questions of children and fools.
Once, when a little child, I was told by my mother that God saw all my naughty thoughts. Immediately, I asked, "Where is God?" She answered, "Everywhere." "In the sky?" "Yes." "In this house?" "Yes." "In the logs of the walls?" "Yes." "In the table leg?" "Yes." "If I were to saw the table leg off, would I hurt God?" "Sh-h, be careful what you say about God."
That last question was as legitimate as the previous ones, and was asked with equal sincerity. It clearly revealed my materialistic conceptions of God. My present opinion is that it would not give Him pain to saw off the leg of a table, but that it would give Him pain to amputate a human leg. God knows the thrill of a nerve better than we do, or else He has much to learn.
A relative, visiting in my home, remarked that she was utterly confused about God; and that she had been reading some of the new cults of the day with the hope of finding something satisfying. Consequently, a little conversation followed on how God was immanent in all nature. So, when she put her little boy to bed that night, she told him that God was not away off in heaven but near, and in everything that was good. To this the little fellow replied, "Oh, gee! then He is in strawberry shortcake, isn't He?" The poor mother was at the end of her wits, and felt that the devotion which followed was not very successful. We teach that God is in everything, without comprehending how He is in anything, and herein lies the difficulty.
The question of how God is in nature was again before us. Some one suggested, "If He is in strawberry shortcake, is He likewise in the garbage can?" "Horrors!" exclaimed another. A third voice, "Now where are we!—do we believe, or do we not believe that God is in all nature?"
A garbage can may be most repulsive if allowed to breed life; yet chemically and biologically viewed, its contents are more beautiful than any fairyland ever described. The odor and sight are repugnant to us, because the refuse is not wholesome food for human beings; but to some other animals it is more delicate than a perfume bottle. The other animals would probably think the perfume horrid stuff. The "Loving Intelligent Will" is not in nature in the same way that strawberries are in shortcake. After that manner God is neither in nor out of anything. This, however, will be made more plain in the consideration of the next question.
Whether or not the reader likes these illustrations, at least they are out of the raw experience of life, and reveal the crude conceptions that linger concerning God and His relations to the universe. A child can ask many of the vital questions concerning religion and life before he can count ten; and if his questions are answered, he will ask almost all the religious questions before he has learned the multiplication table. This is because nothing else is so near to him as life and religion. The mathematical faculty is a later development.