I sit next to my son, mask to his face with another treatment to help him breathe. As long as there’s a truck in his hand and his favorite movie on, he doesn’t notice the hiss and tether of his burden. This has been a winter laced with croup and looking out the window to find the sun.
Flickers of Noah’s perspective remind me of that one holy statement that moms always have the opportunity to consider:
This must be why the retirement place where I work started up a kazoo band. Strides slowing to shuffles and oxygen bottles are the tethers they don’t want as priorities – some of the employees joined the band and together they puffed away the dismal world to find its wonder.
“Momma, I need my wolf hat.” He lives half-way in his imagination; made in the Creators image, knowing better than to take his eyes off the rainbow. If we do, we drown in the flood.
There is also Lois, a sweet woman, recently widowed who mourned for a while, then took up her skis and went to Aspen. She is somewhere in her 80’s. She came home from her trip one night and refused help with her heavy luggage. “I got it, no problem,” she said and walked away with a smile.
The masters at ignoring the thorns and anchors are here with us in our imperfect world, set apart as examples to show us how to see the sun shining in rather than the sun barred by glass.
So grab a kazoo, your voice or just dance; we were made to live in joy.