He dug deep in the old Rubbermaid chest we keep in the garage—the one with the bubble wands and the forgotten sandbox toys, the one with the spiders and deflated basketballs—he dug deep one day in boredom and pulled out a bent up racquet and a birdie. And then he found his dad’s old racquetball racket.
Every day before time to start dinner, he enters my space and casually asks, “Are you doing anything, mom?”
I always am.
Most days I stop what I am doing—whether reading, or writing, or laundry, or whatever—I put it down and join him in the front yard.
This youngest son of mine is always up to something. But I’ve never seen him sacrifice his body for a birdie serve. Reluctant though I am to give up my doings…I am soon laughing at his antics and joining in the good-natured taunt volley. There is no net so some of his returns are rather iffy, but I don’t care. We laugh and giggle while Lucy Mae watches.
I read the devotional at dinner time, and we pray together the thanks for this amazing sacrifice. We each have given our own sacrifice this Lent but don’t talk about it so much. You’re not supposed to, you know. I feel changed by the days but I don’t know. I don’t know if they do. I am memorizing scripture and we walk together and I talk Jesus to them and I try to live Him every day. But the Easter egg days are over and the baskets have lost the shine. The boys will help to hide the eggs for the little ones at church tonight.
I read about Seder suppers and lit candles and foot washings. If I mention these things, a collective groan rises in my male-dominated household. Every year I try something new but this year, I just live it and trust.
The boys’ youth group is reenacting the Last Supper on Maundy Thursday. And last night Jeffrey wrote a poem about Easter. It talked about eggs and candy and baskets. But it ended just right—with Jesus.
Their faith is becoming their own, and though I celebrate the beauty of this, it frightens me a little. What if it isn’t important enough? What if they forget?
Last night, as I tucked the littlest in, we parted the blinds to stare up at the almost full moon. That big orange glow in the sky always moves deep places. Gravity, I think. But I can’t help thinking and I tell him the same thing I do every year, about the Hebrew calendar and how it’s related to the moon and how we know that Jesus looked up at this same orange face and must have marveled at its beauty.
The moon has seen it all.
Yesterday, I bought a new badminton set at Kmart. It came with four racquets and four birdies. And a net.
I’m a morning person and happiest in a place with no walls. Give me a bed of grass and a blanket-sky and I will dream deep in wonder. But a good story takes me to this place too. And a poem? Even better. You can always find me here. Or connect with me on on facebook, twitter, or pinterest.