Holding Hands

Holding hands is one of the great metaphors for the journey of life.

It's a sign of intimacy, connectedness, and commonality. It says, "I am with you and you are with me and we are going somewhere together."

When Ethan and Ezra were very small we held hands all the time. And we felt no shame.

But the journey that parents and children take together is a strange one. Like it or not, we parents must teach our children to do the one thing that is most difficult for us - to let go of our hands and take hold of the hands of others.

It happens slowly. Usually it's subtle...a little tug, a little pull, and his hand and mine swing separately. And I say to myself, "This is simply what happens...let him go." But it still hurts a little each time.

This is why I treasure our morning walks to school. It is not uncommon for Ezra and I to hold hands as we walk down G Ave. It is about what I would expect from a five year old.

But sometime between five and seven, holding hands with dad becomes something you wouldn't do in front of just anyone. That is why I still feel surprised when Ethan slides up on the other side and quietly slips his hand into mine.

In those moments I feel happy...just about as happy as a dad can get. But it is a quiet happiness because I know that these moments are fleeting, and before too long they will probably cease altogether.

But for today, I am content to walk hand in hand with my two boys.

And for those people passing us on the road in those early mornings, I hope they catch the great life metaphor that we are. I hope they think that maybe, for a moment, life is as simple as a dad and his boys walking down the road together...holding hands.

Heavy with Wonder

It was hot.  Probably too hot to be outside in the middle of the day, but that is where Ethan, Ezra, and I found ourselves.

I was shooting baskets, while the kids played in the yard.  They were actually playing quietly, which is simply rare these days.

We were neither talking to each other, nor were we necessarily paying each other any mind.  But we were all generally content to simply be in each other's presence.

In between the noise of the ball hitting the rim and bouncing on the concrete, I heard Ezra say one phrase.    His voice was filled with what can only be described as awe.  He spoke slowly and carefully as if every word paid sacred homage.

"This...flower...is...beautiful."

I let the ball roll into the grass.  Everything was quiet, except my own soul, which screamed silence into my brain.  Something was happening that deserved its own  kind of homage.  Awe descended upon me.

What sort of little person stood near to me?  What sort of child has the spiritual awareness to stop long enough to notice the elegant eternity in something as simple and intricate as a flower?  What sort of soul had formed in five short years?  What sort of soul is capable of speaking out of the fear-filled silence of creation?


Abraham Joshua Heschel, Jewish theologian, speaks of this silence of the soul:
"Sometimes we wish the world could cry and tell us about that which made it pregnant with fear-filling grandeur.  Sometimes we wish our own heart would speak of that which made it heavy with wonder."  


For a moment, I imagine all of heaven stopped along with me.  For the hearts of a boy, a man, and all of creation had spoken a word together.  And it was filled with wonder.

The Magic of Morning Part 2

Since we were the only ones up, and the morning was so beautiful, calling to us in the ways of the trees and birds and all living things, an idea sprang into my mind.

"Want to go for a walk with me? You can ride your bike and I'll walk."

I had a 50/50 chance of an affirmative response.

Ezra jumped up from the couch and ran to get his shoes on.

Before long we were gliding down G Ave, him on his bike and me jogging a bit to keep up.

The air was still. The sun burned holes in the Eastern leaves that promised a swift sunrise. The grass glistened with morning dew. There seemed to be a haze that hung lightly in the air. The world of humanity slept or kept quiet. No cars. No talking. Only the sounds of creation singing its morning song.

My soul sang along with creation.

We passed all the familiar sights - the Lee's, then Martha's and the garden, then Deb's and Houseman's. We snuck around Moffet and back to G, then left again on Westnedge and up Edison where we peeked at Brandon's new house (the highlight of Ezra's ride).

Back in our driveway, the sun had lifted itself over the top of the trees and quickly warmed us to that perfect temperature. You know the one. By that time Ethan had woken and peeked out the window at us, probably wondering what we were doing out there so early in the morning.

Two minutes later, Ethan joined us. We all pointed our faces into the sun.

"I need to tell you a secret," I said. You know as well as I that secrets are universally enticing to 5 and 7 year olds.

They both turned and looked at me at the same time. Both silent.

My mind wasn't quite sure what I wanted to say...but my heart knew.

"Mornings are like magic boys. Nature wakes up first and you've got to get up and get out to see and experience it. Because something happens out here in the morning. At night, we lay down and close our eyes and it's sort of like dying...dying to yesterday...dying to what was. But every morning everything is new. It's like rising from the dead. We have a new chance to do or be what we couldn't do or be yesterday. It's like magic."

Well, I'm not sure what the boys thought of all that. All I know is that for a few minutes after, we were altogether quiet. Quiet...with the rest of humanity witnessing to creation's poignantly beautiful resurrection song.

The Magic of Morning Part 1

It was quiet in the house. I was the only one up...and to be honest I quite like it that way. In my black chair, with a cup of the darkest coffee I can muster, I sat reading...quiet in heart and mind.

Before long, I heard the sound of a fan turning off and the patter of little feet. A door opened, and Ezra stood in the doorway looking at me. As is often the case, my heart melted a little.

And though my quiet time was disturbed, I wanted nothing more than to hold my little one, for I realize he will only be little for another moment. "Want to come snuggle with me?"

Without a word, Ezra departed into the kitchen.

After ten minutes he had not returned. I began to wonder where he went.

He was not in the kitchen, but I found him lying on the couch in the breezeway, with a blanket pulled up to his chin, staring...glassy-eyed at something real or imagined.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

I was more than surprised at his response. "Looking at the trees."

Perhaps Ezra is finding his own delight at being alone in the quiet magic of the morning.

Storyteller

It was morning. The boys and I sat at the kitchen table. I had begun a reading of my favorite parable - The Lost Son. As is often the case with children, and maybe people in general, reading directly from the text wasn't having the impact I had anticipated.

Not knowing what else to do, I laid the text aside and began to simply tell the story the way I saw it happening in my head...with embellishments, exclamations, and passion.

Soon the look on Ethan's face changed. He was into it...right there with me...seeing the far country, the pig slop, and the desperate look in the lost son's eyes. When I finished, all was strangely quiet.

Ethan stared thoughtfully at me. "Dad...you're a storyteller."

In a rare moment of insight, it seemed Ethan not only saw what I saw in the story, but he saw something else...me.

Not "the me" I always thought I wanted to be. You know...that guy people gathered around at parties or family gatherings. The guy who could tell a great yarn. The guy who simply opens his mouth and people listen.

The truth is...I'm not that guy. I'm not that kind of storyteller. I can't conjure up all kinds of wild tales. I can't even tell a good joke.

But as it turns out...I am a storyteller. The kind of storyteller that sees the small things...the hidden things...the things not everyone can see without being shown.

And remarkably, my son knows that...because he can see too. He can see me...just as I am.

A New Hope

It was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, and a young boy had just witnessed the coolest thing he had ever seen. The first ever big screen Star Wars movie!

I'll never forget that day...30 some years ago.

Strangely, I feel the same sort of youthful excitement because today...in just a few minutes, I have the opportunity to lead two little boys into the world of Luke, Han, and Vader...

The Force and The Empire...good vs. evil.

Strange how time seems to collapse around certain memories...as if I'm suddenly that little boy again...trying so hard to levitate objects with my mind (I really tried...many times...).

Will tonight be such a memory for Ethan and Ezra? Will they remember the first time they saw Star Wars as they lead their own little boys into the far away galaxy?

I suppose time will tell.

Well, I'm off...to my very important date.

Oh, and one more thing.

Thanks Aunt Mick, and may the force be with you.

The Tale of Grandma and the New Car

Due to recent employment changes and rising gas prices...I wondered aloud about the possibility of acquiring an additional gas efficient vehicle.

I asked Ezra what he thought.

He said, "Good. You can drive the truck. Mom can drive the van. And Grandma Jan can drive me and brother in the new car."

Of course she would Ez. Who else?