I have spent an insane amount of time looking at short videos of Mark’s Scout Troop playing in the snow at the Klondike Derby this weekend. It brings me such delight to hear the boys’ voices and see them trying to run in snow pants and colorful parkas against a snowy background. It is the end of childhood and they are playing. My heart!
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.
Anais Nin
Simple, uncomplicated me, just dipping my toes into being a mother of adults, wonders, “What do I know?” Very little. Nothing at all. But I delight in hearing my friend Julie Smith speak, whose book, The Gospel According to Mark, A New Rendition, was just published. I delight in seeing little boys happy, in seeing Paige’s actual palette of paints, in hearing Tim’s friends laughing in the basement, and watching Richard enjoy the lemon bars I made. There is depth and validity in those delights. It was a good weekend.