A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [16]
“I reckon you’re right,” I said. “It sure don’t seem like God could want one person owning another and being mean to them and with folks of all colors being able to kill each other.”
“So if God doesn’t like people being slaves,” said Katie, “maybe He’s still good, even though people do bad things, like those men who killed our families.”
Again I thought for a minute. It was hard to get my brain to grab hold of the idea all the way. The harder I thought about it, the more it moved around, like the idea was trying to squirt out of my hand.
“But it still seems like He’d have done something to not let it happen, if He’s good like you say,” I said finally. “Why wouldn’t God make good things happen instead of bad things?”
“Maybe He can’t,” said Katie.
“Why couldn’t He? If He’s God, can’t He do anything?”
“I don’t know. Maybe He can’t make people be good if they don’t want to.”
“Hmm … I suppose that could be.”
“Maybe He doesn’t want to make all the bad things in the world go away, things like your being a slave, and those marauder men.”
“I wonder why not.”
“I don’t know,” said Katie. “But I see what you mean—why can so much bad happen if God is good? It seems like He ought to do something to keep it from happening.”
“Yet as much bad as has happened to us,” I said, “God’s taken care of us too. I think He cares about us, don’t you, Miss Katie?”
“Yes, I think He does.”
“So maybe there’s good and bad all mixed together, like it’s been for us. Even though terrible things have happened, God still loves us—at least we’re pretty sure He does. So that part of Him must be good. Though I admit, it’s still a mite confusing.”
We walked for a couple minutes just thinking.
“I wonder how you find out,” I said finally.
“Find out what?” asked Katie.
“What God’s like.”
“Isn’t that what the Bible’s for?”
“I don’t know, I just thought it was stories about olden times.”
“I suppose you could ask Him what He’s like.”
“You mean ask God?” I said. “Like we did before, when we asked for His help?”
Katie nodded.
“But how would He tell you the answer?”
“I don’t know,” said Katie.
“Maybe by how you feel,” I said, “like when I thought He was telling me to stay here. It was a mighty strange but good feeling to think that God was talking to me.”
We were just about to the field by now. We led the cows through the open gate, then closed it behind them. They frolicked for a few seconds in the thick, tall green grass, if something as big and clumsy as a cow can frolic. Then they got down to their business of the day, which was to eat as much of it as they could.
We turned and walked back toward the house. Neither of us said anything more for four or five minutes. We were about halfway back by then. I’d been thinking the whole way about what Katie had said a little while ago about asking God.
“Why don’t we, then?” I said.
“Why don’t we what?” said Katie.
“Ask God what He’s like. We prayed that other time in the house, when we were reading the Bible and asked Him to come live in us. And then I prayed that He’d show me what to do about staying. So it seems like when we pray, He answers, doesn’t it?”
“It seems like it,” said Katie.
“So why don’t we ask Him this?”
“Okay,” said Katie. “I guess if He wants to live in our hearts and answer our prayers, then He’d want us to know what He’s like.”
“I reckon He would at that,” I said.
“God, please show us what you’re like,” said Katie without even a pause. We kept walking, and she just prayed so natural, with her eyes still open. I was always surprised at how natural she was with God, as if He was right there with us and there wasn’t anything to be afraid of or feel funny about by just talking to Him like you’d talk to anybody. But I reckon if you can’t be comfortable and natural with Him, who can you be comfortable and natural with at all?
“I ask you to show me too, God,” I said. “We want to know what you’re like, and if you’re good, even though so many bad things happen.”
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10
EVEN THOUGH I’D AGREED