In in attempt to reply to Éa’s examining questions on Friday night that were essentially restatements of the problem of religious pluralism which came after she returned from a school field trip to Buddhist, Sikh, Hindu, and Jain temples in Pittsburgh, I stumbled into what I now take as a highly satisfactory answer: Think of how various people would describe me. Carla would describe me one way. Sullivan would describe me another way. You would describe me still another. A stranger on the street looking at me for the first time would describe me still a fourth way. And so on. In fact, everyone would describe me at least a little bit differently. The various takes on me would be accurate in part but inaccurate in others. Descriptive patterns and similarities would be evident, but never total. And a person who had never seen me wouldn’t really be able to describe me at all—nor even be able to say with any confidence that I exist. (Here we bump up against the problem of divine hiddenness, but that’s a different problem.)
Sure, I’ve recreated Hick’s elephant. But putting it in personal, rather than pachydermal, terms helps me embrace it more readily and thus be more at ease in our increasingly pluralistic world. So does explicitly allowing—no, stating as a sound prediction—that people in my illustration will obviously be wrong about me in some of the ways they describe me—even the people closest to me like Carla and Éa and Sullivan. That much is obvious when talking in terms of people. How much more so when talking about the invisible God?
It was a pleasure today to select recordings from which to make custom ringtones for when Sullivan and Éa call me. (I’ve been using “Whistle Stop” from Disney’s Robin Hood for Carla for years.) Éa even advised me on my selection for her, suggesting the winner (the first twenty-nine seconds of “Mrs. Robinson” by Simon & Garfunkel. For Sullivan, I chose the first thirty seconds of Quincy Jones’ “Soul Bossa Nova,” signifying his easygoing demeanor and his prioritizing enjoyment.
Worse comes to worst, I can go bush hopping: where I live in a bush and when that gets compromised, I hop to the next one. I have four in mind. Though it might be hard to get to the third.
— Éa, discussing the state of politics at the dinner table
Wait, is that a rule? We’re not allowed to have telepathic antecedents?
— Éa, in response to a gentle scold from Scott about a conversation he couldn’t follow
All my good jeans are inherited.
— Éa
Carla: There’s a book I wanna read.
Éa: Me, too. But I finished it.
Oh, that’s just dirt from earlier.
— Éa, coughing
Scott: What needs to happen for a bill to become law?
Éa: Oh, I know! The bill needs to sing a song! 🎵
I double down when I’m wrong? Wait. When am I ever wrong?
— Éa
Éa: You’re very good at putting buns in. But you’re not very good at sleeping in them.
Carla: Build me up and tear me down! Build me up and tear me down!
Éa: At least you’re even!
You’re very American right now. I mean in a good way. Not in an overweight way.
— Éa, replying to Carla, who had just told Éa her outfit was very Swedish
[upon realizing that her formerly farsighted right eye is no longer farsighted]
Am I going to get a monocle!?
— Éa, happily
Ooh, I know the website! It starts with ‘hit tips,’ ends with ‘dot com,’ and…something in the middle, but I forget.
— Éa
I just asked Éa how she thinks she is at math. She said “Okay.” (Sullivan replied, about himself, “Super good.”) This kid scored at the 99th percentile at her last math MAP test. So I told her, “Éa, you are super-good at math” and later, “You are amazing at math.”
Ugh! I have so many things to think about, but my thinker isn’t big enough!
— Éa
Shots don’t scare me. I could poke needles into my skin all day if it didn’t hurt.
— Éa
“Littering fine”? They think littering’s fine?
— Éa
Éa [doing math]: Mom, is two minus six plus ten six?
Carla: Umm…wait a minute…
Éa: Also known as twelve minus six equals six.
Scott: Umm…wait…
Carla, after a long evening trimming the hedges: Whew, that was a lot of work. Éa, when you grow up, do you want to be the man of the house?
Éa, matter of factly: I hope so.
Mom, why is mama’s milk discontinued?
— Éa
Don’t worry: The water on the floor is tears.
— Éa
upon seeing Neighbor Dave at his retirement party at The Tavern…
Scott: Do you know what retirement means?
Ea: Yeah! It means giving up.
Éa, shooting the cereal boxes with her finger, “Patchoo! Patchoo!” Carla remarks that her own gun sound when she was a little girl was equally un-gun sounding while the boys always seemed to have advanced sound machines in their repertoire. Éa responds that her gun shoots sneezes, not bullets. “Patchoo! Patchoo! That’s how it started the Cold War.”
[after Éa enters the room having found a book that had been lost for a year and half]
Carla: Oh, Éa, where did you find it?!
Éa: It was where all the lost books are: in a responsible place! 📚