Knee of God
Back in early August we were driving home from a funeral. Ben had seemed unfazed at the viewing for his buddy’s grandmother—the mom of our good friend. Something “heavenly” or “churchy” was on Ben’s mind, though. Quiet for most of the return trip, he spotted a distinctive cloud formation through the sunroof as we sped across Southern Indiana. “The Knee of God!” he proclaimed. This was odd and wonderful and childlike… Later that same evening there was a thunderstorm. Ben was already in bed when Mary called me to the window as the clouds rolled and heavens pounded. After a flash of lightning she said, “Did you see it? That was the pancreas of God—there’s the elbow…left ankle…!” J DOH!
The old notion of perspective being shaped by how we see things hit my wife and me a couple of ways this summer, and they stuck. One focused us on the area outside our dining room window where Mary takes in struggling learners for one-on-one tutelage. There, a bird feeder invites all flying things for snacks. One of the springtime diners must have pushed one little seed over the side because a giant sunflower, the only one, sprang up to tower over the feeder by mid-summer. Our seven-year-old son, Ben, was giddy upon seeing the flower open one day several weeks ago. He likened it to a miracle. While Mary and I understood the simple plant biology of it, the miracle of this bloom grabbed our attention and reminded us that what we choose to see is really driven by how we see things. Ben’s frequent visits to the window to care and water, as well as to worry about the huge stalk, were reminders to us about seeing wonder whenever possible.
Now that school has begun and life for families with school age children gets more and more hectic, I hope that you and your family can stop to enjoy the small marvels of life. We were able to enjoy that giant sunflower because we got to see it through a child’s eyes. SR