Years ago, like half a century, my older boy (now 57 years old) came home and asked me a question about eclipses. Here was my big chance! I took out a grapefruit, an orange and a lemon and started showing him how the earth moved around the sun and where the moon was in relation to the two and how the earth’s shadow could fall - well you know the drill. John looked rapt and I thought I was really getting it, really getting to him. He looked as if he were about to say something and I paused to let him speak.

"Can I have some orange juice?” he asked.

Thus ended the lesson.

I still remember the day John’s older sister, Liz, came home, found me in the kitchen, as usual, and asked me what the f-word meant. She said the word aloud , picked up in the schoolyard, but this is a family blog. Later, recalling the incident, she said she knew she had hit the jackpot because I immediately reached for a towel, dried my hands and took her into the living room. I explained exactly what the verb meant, using correct technical terms, being very explicit but I fear, too clinical. She ilistened carefully and then asked,

“Do you have to go to hospital to do it?”

How seldom we get the chance to go into detail about life’s mysteries, and when we do try, we usually don’t ask the right questions or else we miss the point entirely.

What is the point? Where did we come from? Where are we going? Why are we here? I’m very calm as I ask. I don’t have to explain ito anyone. Others have gone before me and passed a few hints back, to accept or not as I choose:

WE ARE PUT ON THIS EARTH TO KNOW AND LOVE GOD. (What others are here for, we don’t know.)

iIT JUST IS SO.

SINCE WHEN ISN’T BECAUSE AN ANSWER?