The world just got smaller and infinitely older. The pressing urgency of today’s news fades
into the sleep deprived haze of the father of a four week old baby. My thoughts sweep inexorably into the future
through my two baby’s eyes. My worries of the moment shrink toward irrelevance. Shrill voices shilling the next extreme conspiracy sound like the voice of
Charlie Brown’s teacher.
We have
food, and we are warm. I have a job, and
we have doctors for the boys. The price is dear. Does owing a few more dollars
to mastercard dent my shining moment of unity with reality? No. I feel a connection
with my father and his father as they worked to care for their kids.
I
realize I am closer to the farmer who owed the bank more at the end of the year
than he did at the beginning of the day. The coal miner whose rent and food cost more than
his salary. Figures no one taught me about in history class become real and the
history of the world stretches into the past as well. I don’t want the
government to give me money; I want them to give me justice.
The
connection with those “others” may not be the same as my connection with my
family, but my love of them sows the seeds of connection to a wider world of
struggles across a long sweep of history around the world and in our backyards.
On Sunday, the theme of providence
and acceptance clash with my indignance and desire for progress. Crystallizing
clarity brings into focus an acceptance and joy in the moment wrapped within
the Christian demand that the present
includes a peaceful struggle for a just and caring future.
I admit that I love to cuddle my
boys. I love to feel Charlie’s little,
nearly bald head, tucked against my chest. My favorite moments of the day is
when out of dead sleep a footy pajama
clad toe kicks me in the lip. Mikey is
just big enough now that if the swaddle, shush, and tummy message don’t work, I
can tuck him against my side, too, and he drops instantly into slow deep
breathing sleep. I am surrounded by the most intimate targets of my loving
intention. . My favorite moment because after they wake me and before I fall
asleep, I hear my wife’s steady breath and the unven noises of our children. This is my favorite moment because I know at
the most profound level that all is well in the world. The universe stops for a
moment. Nirvana and heaven come incredible close to a small rented bedroom in
Ohio.
That isn’t a bad place to end each
day. That isn’t a bad place to start each day. It’s a great place to live. It’s a great place to find a taste of
paradise and know not just the face of God but the heart and mind of God. The
experience kindles a subtle slow burning
intense love that sees through barriers to the unity woven through reality.
