My Mom describes the look on my doctor’s face as one of pure astonishment after he questioned me about personal safety during a routine childhood visit.

The conversation went a little something like this:

Doctor: Do you wear your seatbelt?

Me: Sometimes.

Doctor: You know if you wear a seatbelt, it will keep you safe in the car.

Me: But my Daddy keeps me safe.

Doctor: Well, unless he can lift up an elephant, which is about how much a car weighs, your Daddy can’t protect you like a seatbelt. Can your Daddy lift up an elephant?

Me (without hesitation): Yes.


My doctor had no words, nor a comeback for my sincere answer.

I answered the question with confidence because I whole-heartedly believed in my Daddy. There was no doubt in my 6-year-old mind. An elephant or any other obstacle, animal or not, I knew my Daddy could handle it.

Child-like faith. It’s unwavering.

This story is a precious memory for my family and we still retell it at times, but I was reminded of it once again when Matt, our pastor, spoke about child-like faith during a recent sermon.

I have often contemplated about the idea of God choosing to call us His children. I think the analogy is a beautiful picture of how deeply God loves us and represents the relationship He longs to have with us.

Over time, as we grow up and experience the hardships of life, we often lose the curiosity, trust, faith and wonder of our childhood.

As we become parents or caretakers of children, we all have our own stories of kids experiencing what they think is a “hardship.” Ever told a child no to something they think they really have to have? It’s overly dramatic. Ever sat down and tried to help a first-grader who is learning basic addition or subtraction? It’s painful for everyone involved.

It’s in moments like these where I think the analogy of being named the children of God deepens even more.

We, as adults, get it. We know the hardship is only temporary. We know their absolute want in the moment will soon pass. We understand the 2 + 3 = ? question they are in tears about will be something they don’t even have to think about in a couple of years.

We can explain it over and over again, using the most basic of terms, but some things they just won’t grasp simply because they are on a different level of understanding. As children, they lack the maturity, experience and a point of reference. They can’t see past the current pain they are experiencing in the midst of their trouble. Even when we take them in our arms and try to comfort and reassure them, they seem to think the situation is hopeless.

I believe this is how it is sometimes when we, as adults, go through our own challenges. God knows the entire story and He knows it’s not permanent. Even if we could hear His audible voice and He were to explain it all to us, He might as well be speaking in another language.

His level of understanding will always be beyond ours, and most of the time, remains a mystery.   

For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

so are My ways higher than your ways,

and My thoughts than your thoughts.

Isaiah 55:9 MEV


Even in the midst of my own adversities, I’m still learning to never doubt the ways of my heavenly Father as I never doubted my earthly Father. This has been most difficult when my world has been interrupted with devastating blows of loss, followed by heart-wrenching grief.

But as I carry on in my quest as His child, I am also endlessly attempting to comprehend there may be things I may never decipher or fathom until I look upon His face in heaven someday.

Consider how much love the Father has given to us,

that we should be called children of God.

Beloved, now are we children of God,

and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be.

But we know that when He appears,

we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.

I John 3:1a, 2 MEV


Melia Ozbun

Melia Ozbun

Melia Ozbun

Melia Ozbun has the privilege of working with elementary students with special needs during the school year. Most days, she believes they teach her more than she could ever teach them, particularly about life and love. A Muncie native, Melia is a wife to an endurance sports nut, a stepmom to a middle schooler who currently knows it all, and a slightly obnoxious food snob. God’s creation awes her and she is an avid camper, hiker, and kayaker. When she is not in search of good eats, she can be found in a nearby state park.