Our granddaughter, Lily, missed the kindergarten entrance cut-off date by ten days and has returned to her small and wonderful preschool where she has stepped up from the Morning Glories to the Fireflies, a fitting transition for her, a bright light of imagination, blinking on and off as she dances from one adventure to another.

Recently she told us she has a new imaginary friend whom she hasn’t met yet. She is the inventor of imaginary home industries extraordinaire, be they beauty parlors, offices, restaurants, or dance studios. She loves to swing and especially to swim. This summer she moved from a timid swimmer to one who excels at underwater handstands. Her vocabulary is growing rapidly, as is the fashion with most five-year-olds. She asks often, “What does _____________ mean?” A recent stunner: “obsession.”

Five-year-olds take in everything. In the car, recently, her mom complimented her for including her ten-year-old brother in a thoughtful way at her birthday festivities. “Thank you … if I do say so myself,” she replied, clearly trying out a phrase she picked up somewhere to see if it fit in this situation. It’s likely the irony escaped her since irony tends to be a seven-year-old acquisition, but with kids like Lily it’s hard to tell.

The evening before her birthday, Lily asked me if she could have a talk with me on the couch. I was busy in the kitchen at the time fixing dinner, but she reminded me from time to time that she needed to have a “big” talk with me. Eventually, she came and took me by the hand and led me into our living room. Needing to have the conversation on the couch seemed to be her way of communicating that this talk was super important. And it was.

At first I wasn’t sure what she was asking. “Papa, what was it before Maine, Boston, Puerto Rico, Africa, China?”

“Do you mean what was it like a long time ago?” I inquired.

“No,” she replied emphatically. “I mean before cars and people and dinosaurs and everything.”

“In the beginning” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “before the stars and the moon and the sun. Was it just dark? Was the dark the bad things?”

“Well, yes, it was dark, and no, it wasn’t bad, just dark.”

“Who was there?” she asked.

“No one except God. We believe God created the universe.”

She paused. “Where was he before he did that?” she wanted to know.

“Well,” I said, “We believe that God always was and always will be, that God is a spirit who is everywhere.”

“Can you read me a book?” she asked, having filled her curiosity to the brim.

Kindergarten can wait.