For almost a year now, every time I pick up my daughter from preschool, we have the same conversation at the same exact spot on our way home.
“Dad, which way is the North Pole?”
We’re heading due north on this stretch of the drive, so I point forward.
We’ve already established that someday if we drive far enough north, we’ll eventually reach the North Pole. This always leads to her next question:
“We need to bring our swimming suits, right? Because it’s cold?”
For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why she thought we’d need swimming suits at the North Pole. I assumed she was confusing them with wetsuits or something insulated, but she never explained. Until one day, I said the right combination of words to unlock the mystery of the North Pole swimming suit conundrum.
“I don’t think your swimming suit would keep you very warm. Why don’t we bring our coats instead?” “But we can’t swim in our coats.”
“Why are we swimming at the North Pole?”
“Because it’s the North Pole.”
“Wait, where are we going again?” And then I heard it.
“The North Pool.”
It clicked. For months, she had been thinking Santa lived at the North Pool. And suddenly, everything made sense. If you say “pool” and “pole” out loud, you can imagine a 3-year-old grappling with pronunciation.
This got me thinking: Why does this particular spot on our drive always lead her to talk about swimming with Santa? My best guess is that a year ago, around Christmas time, she asked me about Santa at that exact stretch of road. Now, she associates the location with Santa—and swimming. Kids are funny that way. But you know what? So are adults. In fact, maybe it’s not just kids and adults—maybe it’s a human thing.
Recently, I’ve been grappling with questions like: Why do we read the Bible? Why should we spend time thinking about God? I know the “Church answers” to these questions, but I’ve been wrestling with what’s happening beneath the surface. How does reading Scripture or reflecting on the Gospel really change us?
If I’m honest, I often approach these practices like tasks to check off a list rather than moments of joy or connection with God. I want to feel that joy, but sometimes it feels like there’s a failure to launch in my heart. Shouldn’t it be easier?
The moment with my daughter reminded me how much our routines and associations shape the way we see the world—even when we misunderstand something as fundamental as the difference between a pole and a pool. It’s a reminder that our minds are drawn to patterns and familiar places. Maybe that’s part of what happens when we read our Bible or spend time with God. It’s not just about gaining knowledge or completing a task. It’s about creating a familiar space in our hearts and minds where His truth can reside—a space that draws us back to Him even when life feels chaotic. The more we engage with His Word, the more those truths become landmarks in our daily lives. For my daughter, that spot on the drive home is a landmark that sparks wonder about Santa and swimming. For us, time with God can become a similar touchpoint—shaping us, reminding us, and drawing us closer to Him over time.
So, the next time I feel that “failure to launch” when I open my Bible, I’ll try to remember this: It’s not about perfect understanding or joy in every moment. It’s about showing up, being present, and letting God build those sacred landmarks in my heart. And who knows? Maybe one day, the truths I wrestle with now will click into place—just like the North Pool did for my daughter.
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