“If you should happen to catch a glimpse of what really matters in life, regard it with care. Decorate it with flowers. Cover it with love. Hold it in the sunshine. Give it a little bit of time and attention. And when the world tries to push you forward, listen to your heart instead. Because if you don’t make time for what really matters, no one is going to do it for you…” –Rachel Macy Stafford
Last Sunday, I was ordained as a deacon at my church.
We sat in chairs around the room and people slowly mulled through the spaces around us,
stopping by to lay hands,
to give a quick, quiet prayer or encouraging word.
My four year old, Eliot, came to me and took my hands and looked deep in my eyes,
asking without words, Mama, let me be with you.
When these things happen, these momentous events, we want them to happen slowly, to let things sink in and simmer for awhile without distraction.
I struggled through the morning about how to do it, how to keep this sacred space for myself–
But when my son is asking to share a holy moment with me,
I give in to kenosis– a pouring out of my own power–
and I invite him to pray over me.
I invite him to stay with me, to give himself to whatever God is speaking into his little world.
And when he speaks the words, “Jesus, please give her peace, and just be with her,” well, that’s all the prayer I’ll need for a long time.
When your children pray for you, listen to them.
Those are holy words,
not meant to be ignored or quickly forgotten.
As people, we naturally want to hold special moments for ourselves, because sometimes they mean the world to us.
They are an experience for us–the child, and God–the parent.
And we examine whether we can handle our own children mucking up the magic or distracting us from the words we need to hear.
But when your four year old is at your knee, his head rested on your lap,
the Spirit of God pulsing through his toddler-sized veins,
his tiny voice speaking life over your very being,
you have a choice to make.
The truth is,
our children want to know God with us.
Our children want to know good with us,
to practice kindness the way we do,
to learn humanity and holiness the way we’ve been learning it all these years.
If we don’t know how to give up our power, to practice kenosis,
then they won’t know how to, either, when the time comes.
So we choose to loosen our grip
and unclench our fists
and bring down our shoulders
and stretch out our hands,
where we find our children
waiting and ready to bring
the Gospel back to us.
Hallelujah and amen.