Keepers of the Wild, Beautiful Things
Going on walks with children can either be the best thing, or just a good way to elicit a sympathetic nervous system response. And I have found there is quite the difference depending on the time of year. In the late summer all involved are accustomed to the routine. There have been so many practices that you can now confidently stop shouting, “Stop at the end of the block!” And, the key component to walks being relaxing instead of painful: the toddler happily acquiesces to sitting in the stroller, rather than you chasing them or prodding them, or likely both if they choose to meander around next to you. On the other hand, a walk during an unusually warm spell in the dead of winter doesn’t generally go quite so smoothly.
My guess is that you can figure out how the above walk went…
A few weeks ago we had one of these particularly pleasant days. It was heightened by the fact that just the previous week, we had been in wind chill advisory warnings, as it was getting down to 40 degrees below zero wind chill on several of the nights before Christmas. So, when the week of Christmas came and it was 40 degrees ABOVE zero, one can imagine it felt balmy. No school meant we had all day to spend together, and perhaps getting out of our house would be a good choice. We currently live only about 2 blocks away from a church that has adoration available 24/7, and while I envisioned myself going daily prior to moving, I am working my way up to weekly.
So, this particular day I bravely stated to the children that we were going on a walk. This may not seem super brave, but on an energy expenditure level, this was going to be quite the investment. It would take at least 20-30 minutes to wrangle everyone and get on all of the shoes and coats. Why? I don’t know. I still cannot figure out how it takes this long, but alas, it does. After that fun, I already have spent much of my mental/emotional energy simply trying to catch a wisp of air in my hands. And put it in a coat and shoes. Or that is what it feels like.
After getting them all into shoes Vincent wants with all his heart to wear the boots Grace has, and Grace invariably is wearing something completely unseasonable like a sleeveless dress. [Wait— where did you get that dress— Didn’t I put that away in your closet in the summer clothes tote? Why are the summer clothes all over and mixed in with the give away clothes and the clothes that don’t fit anymore but we still need to keep and the other things and why is every piece of clothing from your drawers on the floor?!?!?!]
One would think we run a home for orphaned children by the way they dress at times… And it turns out I have zero photos of winter walks— apparently all of my strength is used by trying to keep my children alive.
Who needs shoes anyway? And yes, I am aware we have a serious pajamas-as-clothes problem in our home.
If it feels long to read how long it is taking us to get going on our walk, just be assured it felt longer at the time. But alas, we finally got going on our walk. As we neared the church, Grace and Theo ran ahead, and I half-heartedly shouted to no one, ‘Don’t go in without me,’ as they opened the door to run into the church. I was at least a half a block behind them.
By the time I arrived, an older gentleman was coming out the front door, and graciously held it for me. As we did the awkward dance of me trying to go into the door as he stood inside, all with a stroller, our eyes were drawn into the dark church. They fell upon a sight which made the older man say, “Well, would you look at that. Wow.” He smiled lovingly, a gentleness in his eyes. Both Theo and Grace, after having just run through the lobby of the church, were still—kneeling down on both knees in the middle of the center aisle of the church. There they stayed, and we stayed, for what seemed like a long time, although it was likely 10 seconds. This interaction struck me, looking at another, gazing upon the beauty of my children.
We continued our ‘pop in to say hi to Jesus,’ with the kids leafing through and snagging a variety of holy cards while shout-whispering near a devout Latina woman. Her eyes were pressed shut, murmuring fervent prayers at the St. Jude shrine.
Next up was Vincent insisting on touching baby Jesus in the manger, and the older children running across the church into the chapel prior to me. As I walked into the chapel, three individuals were praying silently, one woman, perhaps college aged in the front near a gray-haired, jolly looking man. In the back sat a middle aged man, already chuckling upon the sight of the tornado that had just descended upon them. Whenever I go with all of the children I secretly hope there will be no one there to interrupt, but it seems these people were more in tune with the, ‘Let the little children come unto me,’ ideal. Just welcome, kind eyes, smiles. God bless them.
‘Jesus took the children in his arm,’ by Theo, age 6
The man in the back was genuinely amused as all three of the children began (again, shout whispering) some imaginative game and then proceeded to take off their socks and shoes within 20 seconds of sitting down in the back. [Me inside, screaming, “NOOOOOOOOOOO!”] The gray haired fellow even caught my attention and motioned for me to come closer as he dug through his bag for a lovely holy card with the Madonna and child, on the back the following quote by Venerable Jozsef Cardinal Mindszenty:
“The most important person on earth is a mother. She cannot claim the honor of having built Notre Dame Cathedral. She need not. She has built something more magnificent than any cathedral—a dwelling for an immortal soul, the tiny perfection of her baby’s body— The angels have not been blessed with such a grace. They cannot share in God’s creative miracle to bring new saints to Heaven. Only a human mother can. Mothers are closer to God the Creator than any other creature; God joins forces with mothers in performing this act of creation… What on God’s good earth is more glorious than this; to be a mother?”
Note to my future self: Be this man! Life goals include being the older person who carries around a million holy cards just so you can give someone the perfect one and make their day with encouragement.
Be this man.
Looking back on the scene in my mind’s eye, upon leaving the chapel there were three onlookers, with the same smile. There is a particular smile and look that a person gives the mother of young children. It is an appreciation for the beauty of the wild. A joy in the face brought by the unexpected, the eager, the brilliant energy and preciousness of children. And, just maybe, in the eyes of those onlookers is a subtle appreciation for the beauty of the sacrifice of mothers and fathers—the chasers of these beautiful creatures.
If people are really honest and coming from a perspective that isn’t profoundly wounded, they will readily agree that children are some of the most beautiful things on this earth. And yet, like many beautiful things, they’re wild and free and not to be bottled up. We, the parents, are the keepers of these wild, beautiful things. We are the bearers of this beauty in the world. The world enjoys the beauty that in some ways, we have proverbially paid the price for: the shoes and coats, the wild tantrums, the unseen care that goes into every day, and the unseen mental load of being completely responsible for these reckless little beings. We live the sacrifice of bringing wild beauty into the world.
Three wild and beautiful children. One shoe.
