The Eternal Child Does Not Relent
by Donavon L Riley
G.K. Chesterton once wrote that God “has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” Think of it: not a gray-bearded god slumped on some throne, but a wild and restless youth, scattering stars like seeds into the deep soil of the night sky. This isn’t the God we’ve tamed in our minds, locked into cathedral rafters and long sighing prayers. This is the youngest force alive, full of wonder at every sparrow’s flight, every dew-dripped leaf catching the first light. And here we are, stiffened and embittered, dragging our weary feet like old wagons creaking under time’s weight. God, endlessly young, watches us—all knotted bone and jaded hearts—and wonders when we’ll lay it all down.
Sin is the first slow death. It ages the heart long before the body falters. Not rebellion in some theatrical sense, but a sluggish turning away from life’s richness. The first thrill dulls, the first light dims. We layer ourselves with armor against the ache of longing, thinking wisdom lies in distance, in detachment, in looking down on joy as though it were an old coat gone out of fashion. And here’s God again, scattering breadcrumbs in the path—birds in flight, wild winds rising, the swell of an ancient song through the cracked cathedral of your ribs. “Unless you become as little children,” Christ said, not scolding but calling, as if heaven’s kingdom itself crouches low, waiting for us to crawl out of the cellar of cynicism and back into its fields.
What kind of God could stand our constant aging, the slow ruin we make of ourselves? Only the God who remains young, who calls us back to ourselves as if we’d only forgotten something obvious and wonderful. Imagine it: not a Father frowning from above, but a Maker kneeling in the dirt, grinning as a shoot breaks the earth, as laughter splits a tired room. God will not grow old. He dances on the edges of this weary world, not to rebuke but to tease us into remembering. We are the gray ones, crusted with time, but the eternal child does not relent. His youth tears through our darkened sky, through brittle hearts worn down by the years. And when He calls, He isn’t shouting from far away—He is pulling us into the wild rhythm of the world He still sees, young as the first breath.