A few months ago, my then-almost-two-year-old, Oliver, had a peculiar tendency to associate every thing with the person to whom the thing belongs or with the person who gave the thing to him. We’d ask, “Are you drinking a sippy?” expecting to hear his crisp little “Yeah.” But instead he’d say, “Daddy” or “Mommy,” depending on who filled it. “Is that a toy car?” “Emy.” I loved it. Things were not things to him but manifestations of people he loves and people who love him. (I often ask him who loves him, just to hear him say, “You love me. An mommy love me.”) So I’ve been thinking about the way that kind of associative labeling would play out with an eternal perspective. Is that a comfortable bed? “God.” Do you love your family? “God.” What a beautiful sunset (this would have been last night as Julie and I drove home from the temple; the sky was on fire)! “God.” Everywhere we look is God. Everything we eat is God. He is the source. And He is the owner. The music, the mountains, the memories, my wife. God. God. God. God. I love Him.