Historical setting: 602 C.E. A cottage in the Vosges
I’d been telling my ten-year-old a story about those pesky psalms his brothers memorize so easily, and then I happened to mention that David, the little harp player, became a great king. So, all I was doing was adding another rung of out-of-reach accomplishment for Simon. I only meant to offer a suggestion of a simple joy in music. Now he’s looking for a quick exit.
But here he stands with his head bowed like an obedient monk, and he asks, “Is this the same fellow who killed the giant with a rock?”
“Yes, it was David!”
“Papa, I have chores to do.” And now he’s gone. But now I’ve laid before this little broken spirit a challenge to be a child prodigy in music, a little warrior with a stone, then a great king. All I meant for him was to give him a way to make a song. How can I ever make this better for him?
Maybe I should listen to Ana who complains that I try to be too controlling. Of course, I don’t have control over how my child receives a story, or music, or love, or any of the things I wish for him. I can only guide him in building a harp. I can’t make a song come from him.
Dear God, thank you for the beauty wrapped deeply in my own way to Spirit. But how long must I wait for my children to find their own ways? Please give me the patience to let them grow as they will. Thank you for being, for me, the parent, always waiting. Amen.
I will try harder to cloak my expectations only in praises.
At this waking I hear Simon now at the table with his sister.
I call him. “Simon!” He’s here immediately.
“When we talked earlier, I didn’t mean to say you have to learn the harp. I just meant if you want your own thing, you could easily learn to …”
“Papa, I found a large ash root washed clean at the creek. It has all kinds of twisty prongs and one or another could be a harp. I’m chopping it into small pieces that I can bring up here and show you. Those branches you don’t choose will make a fine hot fire when burnt.”
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 