There is always lots of laughter. Giggling, chuckling, a chortle. And he usually sets himself up across the room from me. I, on my hands and knees, growl, lower my shoulders, engage the enemy. He laughs some more. Puts his hand to his mouth and thinks. But only for instant. I am sure the tactics of Patton cross his mind. Some advanced mathematics perhaps. But it only takes him an instant before he moves forward. Before he is resolved to the fight, to the war, to the wrestle. Sometimes there are weapons. He will use his prized green blanket. Either it will be a cape or a whip. In the latter, picture the stylings of Linus imitating the Power Rangers. And there is laughter. Much, much laughter.
He is a cheater. A little bit of a cheapskate. He will jump on my back, usually by way of my fulcrumed shoulder. From there, he may bite me, right below my scapula. Right on a good piece of skin. It is his arrow. He is Bard and I am the Middle Earth dragon. And I will fall and roll. Throwing him off. Begin again. Subsequent times he will use his fingers, eye gouging, mouth pulling little fingers. The ones not holding the green blanket.
Wrestling is something boys and Dads do. Since time immemorial. Isaac has learned some strategies recently. And it's gotten to the point where it's a little more of a struggle. A little more of a wrestle before it descends into tickling and calling out to Mommy because someones bumped his head or been unfairly (whatever, he ran at me, I just lowered my shoulder and lifted him up) tackled and pinned beneath Daddy.
But there is always lots of laughter. And it is the most fun.
Now unlike a particular wrestling episode with my father, I've yet to break a bone in him. Yet to be forced into naming a place in the living room Peniel. Though I've more than once found it profoundly moving that God wrestled with man. Like a father and son. I know I complain more than often about unfair pinnings, lowered shoulders and have bitten much in my own time. And it is here I am most like my Isaac. Grossly out-manned, out-strengthened, out-maneuvered. Constantly relying on weapons. But each time I am pinned. And there is this great foolishness. This great silliness prevailing over those times. Like I could out-wrestle The Wrestler. Still it is something that must be done. Must needs be part of our relationship. And He presses me, but does not crush. And while laughter does not permeate the engagements, there is, by the end, this deep abiding Joy. A closeness with God. A Peniel.
Tell me, friend, can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
He is a cheater. A little bit of a cheapskate. He will jump on my back, usually by way of my fulcrumed shoulder. From there, he may bite me, right below my scapula. Right on a good piece of skin. It is his arrow. He is Bard and I am the Middle Earth dragon. And I will fall and roll. Throwing him off. Begin again. Subsequent times he will use his fingers, eye gouging, mouth pulling little fingers. The ones not holding the green blanket.
Wrestling is something boys and Dads do. Since time immemorial. Isaac has learned some strategies recently. And it's gotten to the point where it's a little more of a struggle. A little more of a wrestle before it descends into tickling and calling out to Mommy because someones bumped his head or been unfairly (whatever, he ran at me, I just lowered my shoulder and lifted him up) tackled and pinned beneath Daddy.
But there is always lots of laughter. And it is the most fun.
Now unlike a particular wrestling episode with my father, I've yet to break a bone in him. Yet to be forced into naming a place in the living room Peniel. Though I've more than once found it profoundly moving that God wrestled with man. Like a father and son. I know I complain more than often about unfair pinnings, lowered shoulders and have bitten much in my own time. And it is here I am most like my Isaac. Grossly out-manned, out-strengthened, out-maneuvered. Constantly relying on weapons. But each time I am pinned. And there is this great foolishness. This great silliness prevailing over those times. Like I could out-wrestle The Wrestler. Still it is something that must be done. Must needs be part of our relationship. And He presses me, but does not crush. And while laughter does not permeate the engagements, there is, by the end, this deep abiding Joy. A closeness with God. A Peniel.
Tell me, friend, can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
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