I remember the first time I took my youngest to the beach just after he had learnt to walk. The tide was out, my two older children soared to the water's edge, screaming with joy and excitement. My husband followed them and I stayed back with my son. A new walker means the pace is slower.
But the excitement on his face was just like that of his two older siblings. He kept focused on the sea, pointing with his index finger, walking at a slow pace, and making a sound that was so delightful, "ohhhh, ohhhhh, ohhhhh." He was experiencing a new feet freedom. But he was also experiencing a new landscape. So many treasures surrounded him. The sea, the beach, the patted shells here and there, the mixture of seaweed and muck from the sea, the firm sand to walk upon, the sound of the waves in the distance, and the free sea air.
There is no way for me to know what was going on for him in that moment. Yet, reading his body language suggested sheer delight in his new surroundings, an excitement found in the sound of the waves crashing, and a powerful energy pull from the sea. It was a day of happy choices for his feet.
That one day at the beach, that one moment, was when I knew why I spend my days with children. Children live a life of mysticism. They experience what Dorothee Soelle calls, "highly charged moments that give a deep sense of unity without meditation," and they instinctually know, "God is here." They need no book, no dogma, no priest. They need no training, no workshops, no pattern or checklists, they simply live and experience life's great oneness.
I am grateful for the gift they bestow upon me: with a bucket and shovel, with eyes open, senses engaged, I start digging to find home.
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