He was used to small places. Accustomed and familiar with the intimate settings of his world. For his part, he was only required to explore the outer reaches of the first floors of the homes he visited. Behind the couches and rocking chairs and cautious looks into the shadows of the underneaths of dressers and beds. It would be a grand occasion when he could climb a flight of stairs or kick and scream happily in shallow waters of white porcelain or blue cement, or gaze quietly into the passing trees through a moving window. But even those occasions were small in stature, never far from an outstretched hand of someone whom he infinitely trusts.
When his world did get larger, he did not get smaller. He did not shrink and cower into the familiar. Instead, he basked in its immenseness, swam in the seemingly infinite depths that were swirling around him in cool yellows of a setting sun and gray and white columns of clouds passing over his head. He would not move forward, out into the sea. But he would not retreat. Call that holding one's ground or a lack of bravery. Call it what you will. And call his name, see if he'll set forth on his feet and hands and chase out into the wide tenets of air and light and grass and mud and towards voices of those whom he infinitely trusts.
The world becoming larger is not an easy event to comprehend. To categorize and classify and assess for any of us. That's not even accounting for the equally daunting task of realizing one's place in this world. And for a child, for one who possess innocence and a sweet laughter, even he saw the need to examine, to not have it go unexamined. A truly admirable and envious and difficult task. One that takes no account for innocence or laughter, but requires them properly. There was no one greater to the task in that moment.
Sitting there in the yard, the grass and light around him, he made some judgements, comprehended some of the matters swirling about: That the world just got infinitely bigger. And that, even though he wasn't ready to leap out and crawl and walk and frolic, he could appreciate those of us who try, like me, his dad. With his open and bright blue eyes, heaven-ward, and a simple smile and hair gently tossed by the breeze, he admired those of us who try to make the world not seem so big and not seem so unfamiliar. He humored my attempts to encourage him and inspire him forward by showing him all the things I thought he could do in this larger place. But he had his own take, emitted surprisingly as he looked about and around: laughter at random, unprovoked intervals.
I think he thought this big world awesome.
When his world did get larger, he did not get smaller. He did not shrink and cower into the familiar. Instead, he basked in its immenseness, swam in the seemingly infinite depths that were swirling around him in cool yellows of a setting sun and gray and white columns of clouds passing over his head. He would not move forward, out into the sea. But he would not retreat. Call that holding one's ground or a lack of bravery. Call it what you will. And call his name, see if he'll set forth on his feet and hands and chase out into the wide tenets of air and light and grass and mud and towards voices of those whom he infinitely trusts.
The world becoming larger is not an easy event to comprehend. To categorize and classify and assess for any of us. That's not even accounting for the equally daunting task of realizing one's place in this world. And for a child, for one who possess innocence and a sweet laughter, even he saw the need to examine, to not have it go unexamined. A truly admirable and envious and difficult task. One that takes no account for innocence or laughter, but requires them properly. There was no one greater to the task in that moment.
Sitting there in the yard, the grass and light around him, he made some judgements, comprehended some of the matters swirling about: That the world just got infinitely bigger. And that, even though he wasn't ready to leap out and crawl and walk and frolic, he could appreciate those of us who try, like me, his dad. With his open and bright blue eyes, heaven-ward, and a simple smile and hair gently tossed by the breeze, he admired those of us who try to make the world not seem so big and not seem so unfamiliar. He humored my attempts to encourage him and inspire him forward by showing him all the things I thought he could do in this larger place. But he had his own take, emitted surprisingly as he looked about and around: laughter at random, unprovoked intervals.
I think he thought this big world awesome.
3 comments:
If all the world's ills could be settled by a few giggles, we would all join Isaac in the yard knowing that even as we try to walk, there is our Father ready to hold our hand.
Hey, enjoy the snow now little guy.
By looking at the news you sure do have a lot more snow to play with. See what The Beauty of The Hand Of God can Make when it falls on the trees and bushes it is beautiful.
ENJOY IT ISAAC
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