The Childhood I Wish I Had
A Juxtaposition
I remember the day very clearly. The air was crisp. It was so cold, but our Bronx apartment was as hot as a summer’s day thanks to our Super blasting the heat. We were at the mercy of whatever temperature he felt like giving us and his thermostat was always set to desert hot. When I opened the window for relief, I noticed that it was snowing, which was always so magical as the blanket of snow tucked our neighborhood in for the season to only be awoken come spring. But this day . . . was beyond magical. It was extraordinary.
On our windowsill behind the window guards were snowflakes. You could see each individual flake so clearly. They were playful. Beautiful. Each unique. Geometrical art. And I’ve never ever seen snowflakes like that again. Snow yes, an occasional snowflake yes, but thousands falling from the sky, each individual one as clear as day and on a day that was cold enough where they wouldn’t melt immediately on your hand? Only once in my lifetime. And sadly, I only have a handful of memories like this. Some involve summers in Massachusetts catching dragonflies and little frogs, but I never knew how much more there was to see beyond snowflakes and dragonflies.
As a parent, I want to collect nature memories with my children. I want to catch them like fireflies in a jar to illuminate our lives.
My son came running into the house today and said, “mommy, a poor wasp was injured and is laying on the floor.”
Somewhere between the gardening and the birdwatching, he learned compassion.
“I’m obsessed with birds, mommy,” my daughter proudly proclaimed one day as she picked up a fluffy duck feather.
Somewhere between the nature centers and the visits to the zoo, she learned to identify some feathers.
But my favorite memory? Watching a blue heron land in our local park. We had not expected it and we had never seen one so close, but it took our breath away and one of my children even let out a gasp. We all stood silent in its presence. And even after it slowly walked away out of sight we waited quietly to see if it would return.
Somewhere between the walks to park and the watching of ants and the collecting of snails, we learned the fear of the Lord.
This pandemic has messed us up a little bit, but we’re slowly getting back out there again. And so you see, we will continue together to search and encounter nature beyond snowflakes and dragonflies. And when we one day have enough memories in our jar, I hope it has illuminated for them an amazingly loving Creator.
Until next time, I’ll save a seat for you at the table.