skipping rocks

Upon arrival, he took one look around and set to work, all these rocks in dire need of a swim. He watched as daddy scoured the beach for the perfectly smooth rocks that would dance across the lake, and for hours, a rite of passage into boyhood, skipping rocks.  He settled just a few feet from our blanket, showing bits of independence, while knowing we were still so close. 

I’ve seen it before, that look on his face, the engulfing alive that sweeps over him as he takes in the breeze floating off the water, but we saw him connect in a new way.` His soul was well and overflowing.  Being months away from turning three, he couldn’t put it in words, but they often fail to describe how one connects to his maker.  It was as if he just sensed it, the way his eyes searched the shoreline, the way he watched the clouds paint shadows around the bay, ushering in the night.  That childlike wonder. We felt it too, that’s why we crave the water, it’s where we feel the closest to God. But to witness this in our boy, it takes my breath away.

As he “skipped” rocks, fellow beach goers would pause to watch,  smiles would wipe across their faces along with a glimmer in their eyes, full of  memories.  A quick glance down the water’s edge showed a dozen others doing the same.  This repetitious, calming act that seemed to bring out the best in people.  I wonder if they were connecting too.  At one point, I noticed a group of boys, ranging from age two to fifty.  All of them trying to be the best rock skipper in the bunch. Even the youngest, with every throw his whole body moved, he was trying so hard. The older ones appeared to be more relaxed, but if you really watched, the same eager look appeared in all their faces.

Childlike wonder is a treasure never to be lost.