It's time for me to report on the new book I'm reading. You know how I roll. I read a new book, find some amazing passages and feel compelled to share them. I am currently reading
Dangerous Wonder by Michael Yaconelli, a book about having a childlike faith. There are times that it's challenged my ideas, challenged my perception of God, but this morning the truth resonated. Two quotes invaded my heart and mind and have left me seeking an irresponsible passion, not unlike the passion God has for us. The first quote led the chapter:
"I'm discovering that a spiritual journey is a lot like a poem. You don't merely recite a poem or analyze it intellectually. You dance it, sing it, cry it, feel it on your skin and in your bones. You move with it and feel its caress. It falls on you like a teardrop or wraps around you like a smile. It lives in the heart and the body as well as the spirit and the head." Sue Monk Kidd
This resonates with the English teacher in me. I don't just want kids to be able to analyze poetry, literature, words, but instead internalize them, allow the words to become a part of who they are. What an awesome representation of that!
The second passage is a story. Read through it, try to let go of the rule-following, law-abiding portions of yourself and see the beauty of the gift this little boy is giving:
"A young father, a typical type-A personality, followed the same routine every workday. He would arrive home around 5:30 P.M., park the car in the garage, walk out to the driveway with briefcase in hand, pick up the newspaper, proceed to the front door, enter the house, place the briefcase in the hallway, put the newspaper on the couch in the living room, then walk down the long hallway to the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, he would open the cupboard, take out a glass, and place it on the counter. He would then open the refrigerator, reach for the carton of milk, walk over to the glass, our the glass full of milk, and return the milk to the refrigerator. Without thinking, he would pick up the glass of cold milk, grab a cookie from the cookie jar on the counter, and walk to the living room where he would sit down, power up the television with the remote, watch the news while drinking his milk and eating his cookie, sometimes stopping during commercials to browse through the newspaper. His routine had been the same for many years, and, unbeknownst to him, his three-year-old son had noticed.
One night the father came home from work and began his usual routine. As he stepped into the hallway, setting his briefcase and newspaper down, he looked up to see his son standing down the hall, a smile on his face, obviously anticipating his father's return. Dad knew something was up, so he stopped and watched his son turn around and head for the kitchen. Pleasantly surprised, the dad crept to the edge of the kitchen to see what his son was up to. The little boy ran to the corner of the kitchen, pulled out the bottom drawer (which he was not supposed to do), stepped on the drawer, climbed onto the counter (which he was not supposed to do), reached into the cupboard, and pulled on a glass, knocking the other glasses over. Thankfully, none of them broke. With glass in hand, the little boy scooted back down onto the drawer, then to the floor, and ran over to the cookie jar. He reached up as high as he could and, barely grasping the jar, knocked it over and spilled cookies all over the floor. Oblivious to his father, he scooped all the cookies up and put them back on the counter, except for one. He picked up the remaining cookie, ran over to the refrigerator door, and reached inside and grabbed the plastic half-gallon container of milk. Awfully heavy for a three-year-old, it promptly fell to the floor, which knocked the top off and spilled a little milk all over the floor. Any other evening the father would have yelled at his son by this time, pointing out the terrible mess he was making. Instead, he sensed something much more important was happening here; he patiently waited as the little boy picked up the cookie and the glass of milk and came running to him with a huge smile on his face. The dad threw his arms around his son and said, 'Thank you, Son!' Dad realized his son was giving him a wonderful gift."
Isn't that beautiful!? How precious and reckless true passion and love can be! It isn't always neat and orderly. There won't always be tidy bows wrapped around our passionate actions. Sometimes in the most wildly abandoned moments we find the truest joy, the most beautiful of life's treasures. I want to embrace life, to pour glasses of milk and spill cookies in attempts to show others how loved they are! May my love for others and for God be a passionate mess, and may I be less concerned about the trail of cookies left behind in my wake.
