“Becoming as a little child” is one of the bones this blog gnaws on. We’ve got a morsel or two that way, and maybe even a bit of marrow.

Little children aren’t born ruly. They don’t take to discipline like a duck to water. After a while, the dad with his eyes open observes that they are calmer and happier when there’s leadership in the home. They want someone to obey in the larger sense. This want just doesn’t translate into the actual moments where obedience is required very well. Which makes kids very much like adults.

But what kids love in the moment is play obedience. Yesterday I had my baby girl on my lap. I was making a big mean face and telling her that I was going to tickle her. She would make put up her arms to resist, but only in play. I would easily brush them aside and tickle her. She laughed, and then we’d repeat.

In their own ways, my other children love playing at obedience too. I can put my little son in an instant play-time mood by scowling and threatening crazy punishments, like smearing old banana on his left ear, or spanking his nostril. My older girls laugh when I pretend to be mad and call them comic horrible names, like “reprobate hound,” and “dog of a Saxon!” They love that last one so much I think they came up with it, after reading Ivanhoe or something.

When I am genuinely barking orders, the girls will sometimes stiffen up Prussian style and reply, “Yes, sir! Right away, sir!” Then they’ll scurry away to do whatever it was while smirking at me because I’m trying to choke back the giggles.

I had an adult experience that was like that. It was Army boot camp. It took me a few days of horror before I realized the drill sergeants were mostly only playing at being drill sergeants. They were competing with each other to see who could be the most drill sergeanty. Their swagger was comicly exaggerated. Their macho mouthings were buffoonish on purpose. And they weren’t born with a repertoire of the colorful sayings that Americans associate with Texas–they had cultivated that art, because they liked it.

The engine’s runnin’ but ain’t nobody driving

As welcome as a skunk at a lawn party

Tighter than bark on a tree

All hat, no cattle

We’ve howdied but we ain’t shook yet

He thinks the sun come up just to hear him crow

She’s got tongue enough for 10 rows of teeth

The rest of my boot camp went like this:

a drill sergeant rattles off some colorful expression so naturally that you know he practiced it the night before in front of the mirror. You are bone-tired but you just can’t help it, you splutter. The drill sergeant runs over. He grins with delight that you appreciated his schtick. Then he turns it back on. “Soldier! That is goldurn Out! Standing! You have laughed in the face of fear! You are now crazier than a screen door on a submarine, just like Uncle Sam wanted you. I am dadgum impressed! I am going to reward you the best way I know how–drop and give me 50! Platoon! Let’s all celebrate this outstanding soldier. Everybody . . . drop!”

It is very hard to do push-ups while you are trying not to laugh.

Funnily, it was us Mormon boys in the platoon who got the drill sergeants first.

In a certain place, we see the Father and the Son carrying on their business. The Father gives the Son exact instructions, the Son repeats them word for word, says He’ll do them, executes them, and then reports that He has done the task. It looks like a plodding dutifulness. The thing is, it’s all unnecessary. The Father and the Son are already perfectly agreed. They already know each other’s minds like only the unity of divinity could. No orders are necessary. No obedience is needed.

Their dutifulness can only be a kind of ritual. Perhaps it’s even play.

As we approach the asymptote of salvation, my guess is that obedience won’t go away. Instead, it will merge into happiness.

More obedient then a mule at a glue factory. Happier than a buzzard with guts.