Flying from Chicago to Orlando is, as we used to say in the ‘60’s, a trip, and I don’t mean just the traveling kind. Airplanes are loaded with families headed for Disney World, and kids are riding high with excitement.

 I’m on the way to my grandson’s first birthday, which will take place tomorrow, but partying began early during today’s take-off. As our festive blue and red 737 lifted from the runway, it seemed to angle straight up, slamming us into our seats and eliciting applause and cheers from the children on board. They were pumped for a fun ride, and what they got was competition for Space Mountain.

It was a relief to get into the air after a couple of hours in the airport. Children don’t wait well, and parents all around me were working overtime to keep peace. Our plane arrived a bit late, which brought tension to the waiting area. Traveling is high-pressure for almost everyone, but adding diaper bags, pint-sized back packs and tired little ones turns up the heat considerably.

One little boy, about eight, was a non-stop question-machine, every sentence looking for an answer from his multi-tasking mother. The one I loved best was, “Did people used to not be able to go everyplace?”

It was a good question for a child on a trip. His mom’s response wasn’t as good. “Did you wash your hands when you were in the bathroom?”

Without answering, he repeated his question. “Mom, did people used to not be able to go everyplace?”

This time she answered with, “Is your zipper up?” He asked a third time, and she said, “Tie your shoe. You’re going to fall.”

But children are pros at outlasting parents, and because of his tireless repetitions, she finally answered him. “No.” The whole exchange was like a Jerry Seinfeld comedy bit.

Traveling is a nerve-wracking business full of questions without good answers. A relationship with God can be that way, too. He might ask me, “Did you do the right thing in that relationship yesterday?”

And I answer with, “Please bless my children.”

He repeats his question, and I say, “Help my husband at work.”

But God is every bit as persistent as an eight year old question-machine. And because he wants me to move steadily closer to righteousness, he’ll outlast me every time. My thoughts may be as scattered as the young boy’s mother when she was unable to focus on his question. But God will work on me until he breaks through my multi-tasking fog and gets my answer to what he asks.

There’s one acceptable way for me to dodge God’s questions, and that would be to ask a question back. But to be fair, my question would have to be related to his. If he asks, “Did you seek godly counsel before you made that decision?” I could then ask-back, “Would you tell me who I should talk to about it?”

There are no questions more important than God’s, and he is intensely interested in my answers, not because he didn’t already know what I was going to say, but because he wanted me to hear myself indicating where I stood.

That harried airport mother should have answered her son with a question of her own:

“What?”

After that, they might have made real progress.

“But what about you?” Jesus asked. “Who do you say I am?” Peter answered, “God’s Messiah.” Luke 9:20)