When my son was born 33 years ago, I was a young and very inexperienced mother. He was born in December, the day I put up the Christmas Tree. Foremost in my thoughts that season: "Unto us a Child is born, unto us a Child is given." It was like having Baby Jesus in my home, and the story was a comfort to me.
Thirty-three years later--last Christmas--I held my son's baby daughter and reminded him of that story. His smile as he looked at his personal little Christ Child was, undeniably, beatific.
Yesterday I sat with Lila, all of 15 months old now, in her new sandbox. Her Dad set it up a few days ago: the nifty, ubiquitous, green plastic Turtle Sand Box replete with Moat and Lid. Under the shade of a big tree growing up through the wooden deck, she and I sat and Explored Life. Sifters, cups, and dippers of sand. How sand feels on feet, in hands, how it pours itself sweetly onto all things. We tasted sand (well, she did, a little). We dropped things in the moat, and poured water in the sand. A trio of squirrels ran through the tree and across the deck, another distracting and brand -new experience. When a good breeze nudged the tree, helicopter seeds swirled lazily down, requiring some attention. The heavy metal wind chimes bonged dreamy angel music, without repetitive melody, no anticipated rhthyms.
We took a break from sand duty to walk through the grass--rife with more amazing distractions, including but not limited to: ants, twigs, dead grass, and rocks--to the hammock. I put Lila on the hammock and pushed her. She was not pleased, and wriggled her way down and out of the confining ropes. Feet firmly on the ground, she took firm hold of the hammock and pushed it herself. Back and forth, with concentration. Her own unanticipated melody, not formed yet, reminding me that she is finding her notes and they don't fit my patterns. What a kid.
What a brand new, independently activated, New World Child.
Being Grandma to the Christ Child's Child is every bit as resurrective, I find, as being the Christ Child's Mama. The Memories of First Things, reborn with every baby, lifts and cheers.
With practice, Resurrection gets easier.
Thirty-three years later--last Christmas--I held my son's baby daughter and reminded him of that story. His smile as he looked at his personal little Christ Child was, undeniably, beatific.
Yesterday I sat with Lila, all of 15 months old now, in her new sandbox. Her Dad set it up a few days ago: the nifty, ubiquitous, green plastic Turtle Sand Box replete with Moat and Lid. Under the shade of a big tree growing up through the wooden deck, she and I sat and Explored Life. Sifters, cups, and dippers of sand. How sand feels on feet, in hands, how it pours itself sweetly onto all things. We tasted sand (well, she did, a little). We dropped things in the moat, and poured water in the sand. A trio of squirrels ran through the tree and across the deck, another distracting and brand -new experience. When a good breeze nudged the tree, helicopter seeds swirled lazily down, requiring some attention. The heavy metal wind chimes bonged dreamy angel music, without repetitive melody, no anticipated rhthyms.
We took a break from sand duty to walk through the grass--rife with more amazing distractions, including but not limited to: ants, twigs, dead grass, and rocks--to the hammock. I put Lila on the hammock and pushed her. She was not pleased, and wriggled her way down and out of the confining ropes. Feet firmly on the ground, she took firm hold of the hammock and pushed it herself. Back and forth, with concentration. Her own unanticipated melody, not formed yet, reminding me that she is finding her notes and they don't fit my patterns. What a kid.
What a brand new, independently activated, New World Child.
Being Grandma to the Christ Child's Child is every bit as resurrective, I find, as being the Christ Child's Mama. The Memories of First Things, reborn with every baby, lifts and cheers.
With practice, Resurrection gets easier.
It was fun to read this after your presentation to the writer's group. I love the paragraph about playing in the sandbox. You invoke very vivid images, I can see each action in my head. I also really love your message of renewal through children. They are after all our way to immortality. Keep going!
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