Two weeks after the second-string sprouts erupted, I stumbled upon another new sprout. Admittedly, the pods were actually bone-dry when I checked them because I’d forgotten to water them for a few days (as I said my thumb’s hue isn’t any shade of green). And yet a single resilient seed still produced growth.
The journey of detachment from this world, which is a requirement of every person, is a communion with the Infant King. It is a letting go of our expectations and the desire to know the future. It is the acceptance of being cradled in the arms of Providence and laid in the manger of the present moment. It is the realization that we are both called to hold our Infant King in our hearts and to be held by Him.
Our familiarity with things, people and situations can make us blind to reality. Rather than look through wide, clear lenses, we more often see through the clouded tunnel of old experiences and expectations.
Before my visit ended and I boarded a northbound plane, I had one last chance to lay eyes on my Daddy. Fully cognizant that it might be the last image I’d ever capture of him, I intended to savor it.
So watching my son step out into the yard with the intention of defending that which he regarded as worthy of protection, I was both proud and grateful.
We believed, wholeheartedly, that a solid formation would net good results. That is, of course, what the books promise, right? Do this and this will be the result. Time and experience, however, turned that notion on its head.
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