see the wind

On nice days, we lay the quilt on the ground under the shady oak tree outside.  We sit and watch the world around us. He chases the bugs and collects sticks. She kicks and coos with delight.  I watch, revel, and take pictures.

His mind is curious, an explorer by nature, he is a child and a boy.  He believes he can climb very tall trees and wonders where the bugs go when they sink into the cracks on the sidewalk.  The world is alive and ready to be learned.

A breeze is often blowing in from the lake down the street, filling the leaves with a joyous rustle, a summery tune.  One day, he pointed as he watched them dance.  I told him, that’s the wind in the leaves.  Wind, he responded in his own way.  Now whenever he looks out and sees the world caught up in a flutter, he says, wind. I don’t correct him, because I’m beaming with delight.  His mind free from the haunting of impossibilities is so pure, vivid and mesmerizing.

Last night, we were visiting my mom and as he looked out the windows of her third floor home, the trees below danced to a melody only they could hear.  She asked, What do you see?
Wind, he answered.

She was taken back by his answer and laughed out loud, because every adult knows that you really can’t see the wind.  Adults are silly like that, how they get all sensible and such. Then a sense of pride washed over her face at the wonder that is her grandson.

But children, they are eager to soak in the magic of life, optimists by default, ready to discover the great big world. They are sponges and they hang on our every word.  Words about trees and words that affirm them.  Like many, I read The Help and was so moved at the love that Abileen had for Mae Mobley. When her own mother wanted little to do with her daughter, Abileen, the maid, took it upon herself to instill in that girl a very crucial message. “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”  She told her every chance she could, but maybe it only took once for her to capture that affirmation and store it deep inside.

We have this great opportunity to pour into these little lives, these messy, little, exhausting darlings and if we are intentional, they will grow up to believe that they are all the things we tell them.  They will see the goodness in people and in themselves, they will find truth, beauty, and hope.
In a world were so many have traded in the possibility of magic for the realism of sensible, they will see the wind.

P.S. The most beautiful post.

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.

within a child

Daily, I watch in wonder this child growing into an adventurous explorer.  It wasn’t too long ago that he wouldn’t finish his meal if his hands got dirty. Now, he can be found on all fours searching through the dirt.  He found this little opening in the bushes and slowly realized he could crawl in and hide, as he went in deeper, he kept looking back at me smiling.  We collected rocks, sticks, and leaves, which we pressed between wax paper later that day.  I watched him as I sat on the bench, listening to Edith Piaf and holding my little girl who loves the sunshine and breeze and French music, she told me so.

I love how he points in the air and exclaims, Wind!  How he chases the bugs down the sidewalk.  How he says hello and goodbye to everyone we see.  I love the delight in his eyes when he’s running in the grass. How he declared all the letters he knows. How he can distinguish between the sounds of a truck, car, motorcycle, or train. 

Picasso said that, “Every child is an artist, the problem is how to remain one once he grows up.”  I think the same goes for adventurers, explorers, being friendly to strangers, finding wonder in the everyday, believing that you can climb a very tall tree when you are small.
I never want to be the kind of mother to squelch that spirit, the world will try hard enough.