Through The Eyes Of A Child

The days approaching Christmas, they speed wild and crazy, shopping lists and red curling ribbon, parties and long lines. A hurried and frenzied world that clicks on-line like a forever tap dance, and stealing a slice of peace is risky business, there is so much more to do. And when my father-in-law took a fall and needed hip surgery I wondered at the timing, at the decisions and choices crowding together. Not his hip! What are the options?Is surgery safe for a ninety-three year old with dementia? After consulting with the specialist we opted for surgery which set his operation exactly when we had a train ride to catch...

on The Polar Express.
 

Where wistful watching captured a moment and hopeful expectation skipped down the aisle, clapping happily, a song, a refrain, Hot, Hot, Hot! I sang too, I clapped and my mind hummed down the tracks, I need to be somewhere else, in a waiting room not tapping my feet here in all this glee.



Cheers to hot cocoa, a child's delight, coating the throat with liquid gold. I took a few sips and thought about the time. Is he safe? Will he be OK? Will he walk by himself again?

He came and sat among us, this man with the whorly white beard. He chatted and spread hope, giving life to child's biggest wish. An aged Superman. A silver bell from the harness of a reindeer. And I am ushered back into the moment, where childlike faith is walking on water, trusting is simple yes. The sound of a bell is real. Santa Claus is everywhere at once and that is OK. I lost track of time, singing "Feliz Navidad" like I knew all the words with young boy studying my lips, carefully mimicking. Joy ricochets off steel walls. Worry melted from my shoulders, pooling on the vibrating floor, a puddle of I-will-trust-this-here-now.

 

 

As we departed the train and made our way to the car, with all those pajama-clad children whose faces still lit bright, I knew this was the right choice for us that day. A gift, a respite, a slice of peace in the midst of all the busyness of the season. Maybe we never made the choice, maybe the train had waited for us all along, that a surgeon would check his schedule, and an operating room opened up at precisely boarding time. Perhaps God knows that adults are really grown children, in need of play and whimsy, and timing is irrelevant and trusting is the key.

Later in the week I watched my father-in-law practice walking down the hallway, hands gripping a walker, caregiver holding him by a striped belt, his gait unsteady, wobbly. Christmas music streamed from the dining room. I thought of a silver bell not all can hear, a Santa who travels the world in one night, a babe in a manger who came to save the world. I shook my head in awestruck wonder.

The answer so simple, so crazily divine, only with eyes of a little child one can truly see, the Gift in all His blazing glory. He came that day so long ago, for all of you and me.

Every Breath Is A Second Chance

It came as a package of three, a parcel of gifts that flew my way. Separate pieces of a glorious puzzle. While cleaning our house last week I spotted gorgeous pale pink blooms adorning my mother-in-law's Christmas Cactus. How can that be? It barely got watered for two whole years? This plant kept company with nothing more than sound of birds chirping bright outside their empty home after her death. Whenever my husband checked on their house before it sold he gave it a drink, how much I never knew. I figured it stood little chance at survival. Let alone thrive and delight. While gazing at those beautiful blossoms my mind spun backward, to another cactus, one that kept me company for many years. After my mother passed I inherited her mammoth Christmas Cactus. Magnificent fuchsia-colored blooms, year after year it did not disappoint. Until the winter I left it outside, in frigid temperature and it never revived. A broken gift. Maybe this is a second chance! Maybe God is giving me a re-do! I will let husband water this one. While snapping a picture of thriving pant, I thought about a God who gives second chances, who creates beauty from ashes, who builds strength from mistakes and failures.

A few days later, as we stood in the toy section in Fred Meyer's I felt  it then, this lingering touch as I retrieved one Ninja Turtle from the shelf. "Is this the right one?" I asked my husband. He picked  one of the action figures from the display, examined it closely, yes we agreed, these were the right toys for twin grandsons. We spotted another couple choosing a higher priced version, turtles with serious slashing sai action, fantastic for four year olds. We bought two. "This feels like deja vu," I said. "We bought these already, just twenty-five years ago!" Memories of our thirty year old son enacting heroic scenarios, sound and all with Donatello and Raphael, these images flashed nostalgic, a sentimental slideshow right in the toy aisle. These Ninja Turtles resurfaced again. Will the boys love these Ninjas like son  did?  Is it weird buying these super-enhanced turtles? Where did all the years go and was it safe for son to play-act like a super-hero turtle?

We put the toys in the cart and through the day the feeling remained, like a nudge from your best friend before she shares delicious secret you think you might already know. Maybe we do get second chances, and maybe broken gifts aren't truly broken but laid to rest until another resurfaces. Like a neglected cactus that blooms at Christmas, and super-hero turtles that come back to life.

And the tea party I promised my granddaughter a few months back but forgot to set a grand table. Our plane departed and she woke recalling a broken promise, this memory that cast tears in toddler eyes. Taking advantage of second chances, I knew my China Tea Set has power of its own, to spring back to life a child now grown and those that follow to share in all that joy.

 

He nudged me that day in the toy aisle, a truth that shimmers me free, I wrap a toy, admire a bloom, and set a table for three.

 Every breath is a second chance...