I slept through into the sun this morning. This doesn’t happen often, and when it does, almost always, I sleep alone. I don’t know why this is, only that it’s so.
Bridgette and Audrey stayed north last night for a volleyball tournament early this morning. Two days ago, I planned to go, but today I think I’ll stay.
Owen had his last basketball game of the year last night (I stayed back for this and Matthew’s band). We lost.
Friday before the tournament, I said a prayer. The prayer was answered, and, as usual, far from way that I expected. As often with answered prayers, God did not make it quick and easy but gifted situation where we may work and improve on that which it is we prayed to affect and change.
This is what I’ll do today—sharing time with my son; not on a court, not as a coach, just father and son who love one another.
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of listening. What makes my son excited? He’s ten. He plays sports. Basketball is ended and baseball is begun. His schedule is busy, as every one of ours seems to be. The last few weeks, he’s had baseball Mondays and Wednesdays, basketball Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Small schedule changes, some days he didn’t—and that’s what I remember.
“I don’t have baseball today? I don’t have basketball? I don’t have practice?”
“No,” my answer back as I watched his eyes light with thoughtful plans to fill the idleness we once called childhood. “What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I’m going to play basketball outside!” His own ball, his own hoop, no structure—just play.
Maybe, at ten, it’s better this way—or deserving, at least, more consideration than we as parents sometimes lend.
We fill our children’s childhoods with activities and experiences we want for them to live and, in excess of our plannings (as often, too, with our adult lives) we leave no space for the open moments that are the “choose your own adventures” where childhood is made.
So today, that’s what we’ll do—whatever it is he wants—a choose your own adventure in open moment where childhood is made.
*****
First, we go to Mass. We sit in the east by windows where rise of sun falls through.
As I listen to first and second readings, my son speaks too. He tells me jokes. He tells me stories—happy to have our time, just us in a pew.
It is the Second Sunday of Lent, the Transfiguration of Jesus before Peter, James, and John.
Arrived to the gospel, I listen to our Father as he speaks the Word of God:
“While he was speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them (and does to us as Father speaks), then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.’”[i]
Cloud moves—moment shadow back to light in window-fall again.
I look to my son, listening at side. He is not transfigured, but the stained glass light is upon him bright, and I see God in this too.
“This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.”
I do as God commands.
“Dad,” he asks as Father sets into his homily (I do my best to listen to both, but—in the direction and message—I feel it is for another and that the Gospel’s is for me).
“Yes?” I answer in a whisper.
“Can we get cookies after Mass?” There is a Girl Scout stand in the narthex this morning, and we passed it walking in. “They have one we don’t have,” he speaks and builds his case. “It’s a brownie and has caramel. Can we get them?”
“Yes,” respond, and with it he is well pleased.
After Mass, we find and he shows me. He reaches, holds, and hands me a box. I read their name: “Adventurefuls.”
I don’t believe it—but I do.
I think of the words I wrote before Mass: the thoughts on my heart, unknowing what Gospel would speak, what my son would ask, or what he would choose.
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of listening…“This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.”
We leave no space for the open moments that are the choose your own adventures where childhood is made…“…Adventurefuls.”
Thoughts and words on morning heart echo in Gospel and after Mass to affirm I’m on the Way.
Open moment, open-souled—listening—God speaks and shows His signs.
[i] Matthew 17: 5