When my daughters were crib-size and diaper laden, I would come home, shout their names and they’d run to me with extended arms and squealing voices. We’d roll on the floor, tickle tummies and laugh and play. Their only request of me was, “Let’s play, Daddy.” And I made no demands of them, except, “Don’t hit Daddy with the hammer.” My kids let me love them. But suppose they had approached me as we often approach God. “Hey, Dad, glad you’re home. Here’s what I want!” And I would have wanted to say, “Why don’t you just climb up on Daddy’s lap and let me tell … Listen Now

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