“Who?” my daughter asks, as I’m half listening.
“Because,” I mumble and grab another shirt off the pile and start folding it.
A little hand pulls at my sleeve. “I asked who, Mama.”
I put down the shirt and look at her. “Who what?”
“Who made God?” Her eyes look at me, waiting for an answer.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Go ask Him.”
She seems to reflect inward for a moment. “Oh! Okay,” she says.
“Okay what?” I ask; my curiosity piqued.
She shrugs. “He says time doesn’t mean anything to Him.” With that my daughter left the laundry room with me staring after her.
*Of all my stories for this A to Z challenge, this is the only one that is completely true.