Water and Case, the Singing Barista, and Water and Baptism
Today was the last day of my current stint as a "Discovery Land" worker serving in Toddlers 1.
It's been quite a ride, and today was not a mild finish. We had seventeen kids. Tyler of the wood-brown eyes, acute intelligence, and strong will, was relatively well behaved. Carson, my sweetheart to whom I have given the Indian nickname "Lazy Goldfish," smiled up at we Toddlers 1 workers as he always does---radiantly green-eyed. Ty is a "screamer" (his yells can shatter eardrums) and Carson is a "snuggler" (never happier than when in your lap with a book)... but today, as always, most of my attention went to Case. Why? To keep him from hurting somebody.
Case needs to be watched all the time, unless we want an "incident" to occur. He is a wrestler. He's also stubborn, unbelievably energetic, fights for keeps, sulks when corrected, throws fits when his parents drop him off, pushes little girls, yanks toys out of other boys' hands, ignores the requests of adults, and can be a complete loner. Who would have thought that a porcelain-white child with dark floppy hair and dark blue eyes could be such a menace? And who would have thought that I'd love him so much?
Why do I love him?
I've been asking myself this a lot lately, because after this week I have a choice to make. Do I follow Carson and Ty into their new class, thus keeping two of my three little musketeers? Or do I split off and go with Case? It's not as if Ty's adventurousness wouldn't keep me busy... it's not as if Carson's sweetness wouldn't provide me with plenty of warm fuzzies...
But really, in my mind, there's no question. I'm going with Case. The only thing I can't figure out is why. He doesn't sit still; he doesn't listen; and he's quite willing to choke me (he thinks wrestling is a normal form of play and is remarkably good at the strangle-hold). He kicks and has tantrums; he's selfish and extremely difficult. I spend more time correcting him, breaking up his fights, and generally watching him like a hawk than I do any other kid in all of Discovery Land.
So why don't I want to leave him? Do I have an affinity for difficult children? Is that it? Today he was as complicated and unpredictable as ever, and just as unaffectionate. He's a regular Peter Pan: heartless. But that can't be my reason for loving him. Ty is difficult too, and also heartless. Why, therefore, not keep Ty and Carson, and let that dangerous little blue-eyed child fall to someone else's lot?
For so many reasons. Carson is lazy, and Ty is intelligent in a mechanically-minded way, but Case knows about things that the other two do not realize exist. Example: In an attempt to distract Case today, I turned on the water in our classroom sink and let him look at it. We do this sometimes because it seems to fascinate the children. But I've never seen a child respond as Case did.
He didn't put his hand in the water and squeal, or splash, or pull back. He just held it there, staring at the stream flowing over his white skin as if he could not tear himself away from the shimmery fascination of it. He murmured comments to me that I could not hear well, but my heart was full, watching him play. He did with the water as I would; as I have. He understands water. And I understand that.
I don't understand Case. On many occasions I wish I could shake some sense into him. I only know that his complexity is of a sort that appeals to me, and his flaws, however many or serious, only make me want to help---to admonish, to pray, to explain, and to pray more. I love his beautiful eyes, yes; but the simplest thing to say is that I love his soul and all the personal characteristics of it. I love his quick intelligence and huge grin. I love his love of laughter. I love his gracefulness of motion. I love his daredevil recklessness. I love the look on his face when he is playing with water.
In short, I love him: flaws and heartlessness and all. I couldn't help myself. I won't try. I'll just go on protecting the other children from him, go on upholding his truly excellent and devoted parents in their efforts to discipline him, go on praying, and go on holding him on the rare occasions when he wants to be held. It is a sort of love that expects nothing; he doesn't care that I'm alive and probably never will. Children are like that. But this fact wouldn't keep me from taking a bullet for him, and it won't keep me from caring for him as his shoe size expands into one more year of growth.
I left the first service pondering all these things, and went on pondering them as I waited in line at Starbucks. Each Sunday I must arrive at church by 8:30 AM and spend the time until 10:45 constantly at watch over little ones, so it happens that I am often weary by the end of our shift. This Sunday one of the mothers kindly gave us Starbucks cards as a thank-you for our year's work. This Sunday I was also unusually tired. I decided therefore to get coffee before attending the second service.
There was a singing barista.
I kid you not. I stood there for five minutes waiting for my coffee and admiring this man. He wore a wedding ring but was probably not more than 10 years older than I. Watching him was like watching a wizard or a dance. Each movement of his was paradoxical: careless yet precise, easy but efficient. Actually, "singing" is the wrong word. He didn't sing exactly; he hummed and talked to himself. But the effect was musical. Snatches of songs hung in the air around him, punctuated with his soft conversational remarks to himself and others:
"What's next... next... ah! Milk. The mocha latte? No, this."---then to a customer---"Hi there, shall I start on your venti hazelnut latte? Of course you're having it! You've never had anything else all year!"---then to himself again---"Next... next... quick, quick, quick!"
I watching him with something like amused awe. All I could think was, "That's the kind of person everybody should have working at their Starbucks. Now that's a barista!" He was a craftsman and an artist, a knower of people and a liker of them, a bundle of energy that did not grate and cheerfulness that did not seem forced. He was, in short, a master.
Coffee and a muffin was all I had time for, and even so, Brittainy and I walked into the second service a minute or two late. We slipped into our family row. For the last month, the worship part of the service has been punctuated with baptisms. These are always a highlight of the week for me; I can think of nothing more exhilerating than watching person after person declare their faith in God and their commitment to Him.
The baptismal is a large pool in the middle of the stage and it throws radiant light up, dancing, all across that wall. I recently met with my pastor, Isaac, to discuss my own baptism or re-baptism (long story, look for it in a future post). He asked me to describe my conversion. Sitting in his office, staring at nothing in the present but so much in the past, I broke into a smile. "Isaac," I said, "it was like 'the people walking in darkness have seen a great light.' Before that day, I wanted to go to Heaven in spite of God. After that day, I wanted to go to Heaven because of God. It was illumination---I felt as if Heaven itself burst open and I saw..."
I went on, trying to describe all that happened to me on that day. At last I trailed off, tears in my eyes, grinning like a fool. Isaac grinned back. "Wow. Maybe you should just go get baptized right away." We laughed.
Remembering this, I smiled again during worship, tears in my eyes again, looking at the water-light on the wall of the church. "What would I say," I asked myself, "if someone asked me to describe the difference in my life now that I am saved?" I thought, "I would say that now my life is like those reflections of water. I feel like light and motion." And as I watched the water break and gather into shining ripples, as person after person confessed Christ as Lord and rose from death to newness of life, I thought, "How beautiful are the people of God, and the practices of God, and the character of God! How beautiful you are, Beloved! How shining you have made my life, and how I love the reflection of you in it!"
It was a radiant morning, gentle reader, and in it my worship was the worship of adoration.
It's been quite a ride, and today was not a mild finish. We had seventeen kids. Tyler of the wood-brown eyes, acute intelligence, and strong will, was relatively well behaved. Carson, my sweetheart to whom I have given the Indian nickname "Lazy Goldfish," smiled up at we Toddlers 1 workers as he always does---radiantly green-eyed. Ty is a "screamer" (his yells can shatter eardrums) and Carson is a "snuggler" (never happier than when in your lap with a book)... but today, as always, most of my attention went to Case. Why? To keep him from hurting somebody.
Case needs to be watched all the time, unless we want an "incident" to occur. He is a wrestler. He's also stubborn, unbelievably energetic, fights for keeps, sulks when corrected, throws fits when his parents drop him off, pushes little girls, yanks toys out of other boys' hands, ignores the requests of adults, and can be a complete loner. Who would have thought that a porcelain-white child with dark floppy hair and dark blue eyes could be such a menace? And who would have thought that I'd love him so much?
Why do I love him?
I've been asking myself this a lot lately, because after this week I have a choice to make. Do I follow Carson and Ty into their new class, thus keeping two of my three little musketeers? Or do I split off and go with Case? It's not as if Ty's adventurousness wouldn't keep me busy... it's not as if Carson's sweetness wouldn't provide me with plenty of warm fuzzies...
But really, in my mind, there's no question. I'm going with Case. The only thing I can't figure out is why. He doesn't sit still; he doesn't listen; and he's quite willing to choke me (he thinks wrestling is a normal form of play and is remarkably good at the strangle-hold). He kicks and has tantrums; he's selfish and extremely difficult. I spend more time correcting him, breaking up his fights, and generally watching him like a hawk than I do any other kid in all of Discovery Land.
So why don't I want to leave him? Do I have an affinity for difficult children? Is that it? Today he was as complicated and unpredictable as ever, and just as unaffectionate. He's a regular Peter Pan: heartless. But that can't be my reason for loving him. Ty is difficult too, and also heartless. Why, therefore, not keep Ty and Carson, and let that dangerous little blue-eyed child fall to someone else's lot?
For so many reasons. Carson is lazy, and Ty is intelligent in a mechanically-minded way, but Case knows about things that the other two do not realize exist. Example: In an attempt to distract Case today, I turned on the water in our classroom sink and let him look at it. We do this sometimes because it seems to fascinate the children. But I've never seen a child respond as Case did.
He didn't put his hand in the water and squeal, or splash, or pull back. He just held it there, staring at the stream flowing over his white skin as if he could not tear himself away from the shimmery fascination of it. He murmured comments to me that I could not hear well, but my heart was full, watching him play. He did with the water as I would; as I have. He understands water. And I understand that.
I don't understand Case. On many occasions I wish I could shake some sense into him. I only know that his complexity is of a sort that appeals to me, and his flaws, however many or serious, only make me want to help---to admonish, to pray, to explain, and to pray more. I love his beautiful eyes, yes; but the simplest thing to say is that I love his soul and all the personal characteristics of it. I love his quick intelligence and huge grin. I love his love of laughter. I love his gracefulness of motion. I love his daredevil recklessness. I love the look on his face when he is playing with water.
In short, I love him: flaws and heartlessness and all. I couldn't help myself. I won't try. I'll just go on protecting the other children from him, go on upholding his truly excellent and devoted parents in their efforts to discipline him, go on praying, and go on holding him on the rare occasions when he wants to be held. It is a sort of love that expects nothing; he doesn't care that I'm alive and probably never will. Children are like that. But this fact wouldn't keep me from taking a bullet for him, and it won't keep me from caring for him as his shoe size expands into one more year of growth.
I left the first service pondering all these things, and went on pondering them as I waited in line at Starbucks. Each Sunday I must arrive at church by 8:30 AM and spend the time until 10:45 constantly at watch over little ones, so it happens that I am often weary by the end of our shift. This Sunday one of the mothers kindly gave us Starbucks cards as a thank-you for our year's work. This Sunday I was also unusually tired. I decided therefore to get coffee before attending the second service.
There was a singing barista.
I kid you not. I stood there for five minutes waiting for my coffee and admiring this man. He wore a wedding ring but was probably not more than 10 years older than I. Watching him was like watching a wizard or a dance. Each movement of his was paradoxical: careless yet precise, easy but efficient. Actually, "singing" is the wrong word. He didn't sing exactly; he hummed and talked to himself. But the effect was musical. Snatches of songs hung in the air around him, punctuated with his soft conversational remarks to himself and others:
"What's next... next... ah! Milk. The mocha latte? No, this."---then to a customer---"Hi there, shall I start on your venti hazelnut latte? Of course you're having it! You've never had anything else all year!"---then to himself again---"Next... next... quick, quick, quick!"
I watching him with something like amused awe. All I could think was, "That's the kind of person everybody should have working at their Starbucks. Now that's a barista!" He was a craftsman and an artist, a knower of people and a liker of them, a bundle of energy that did not grate and cheerfulness that did not seem forced. He was, in short, a master.
Coffee and a muffin was all I had time for, and even so, Brittainy and I walked into the second service a minute or two late. We slipped into our family row. For the last month, the worship part of the service has been punctuated with baptisms. These are always a highlight of the week for me; I can think of nothing more exhilerating than watching person after person declare their faith in God and their commitment to Him.
The baptismal is a large pool in the middle of the stage and it throws radiant light up, dancing, all across that wall. I recently met with my pastor, Isaac, to discuss my own baptism or re-baptism (long story, look for it in a future post). He asked me to describe my conversion. Sitting in his office, staring at nothing in the present but so much in the past, I broke into a smile. "Isaac," I said, "it was like 'the people walking in darkness have seen a great light.' Before that day, I wanted to go to Heaven in spite of God. After that day, I wanted to go to Heaven because of God. It was illumination---I felt as if Heaven itself burst open and I saw..."
I went on, trying to describe all that happened to me on that day. At last I trailed off, tears in my eyes, grinning like a fool. Isaac grinned back. "Wow. Maybe you should just go get baptized right away." We laughed.
Remembering this, I smiled again during worship, tears in my eyes again, looking at the water-light on the wall of the church. "What would I say," I asked myself, "if someone asked me to describe the difference in my life now that I am saved?" I thought, "I would say that now my life is like those reflections of water. I feel like light and motion." And as I watched the water break and gather into shining ripples, as person after person confessed Christ as Lord and rose from death to newness of life, I thought, "How beautiful are the people of God, and the practices of God, and the character of God! How beautiful you are, Beloved! How shining you have made my life, and how I love the reflection of you in it!"
It was a radiant morning, gentle reader, and in it my worship was the worship of adoration.
posted by Praelucor at 9:38 PM
1 Comments:
I always love the naughty, audacious ones. Although I love every child differently. I like the dreamy, slow ones. I like the wild, thoughtless ones. I like the cuddly ones, and the emotional ones.
Well, ok. It is harder to like the dull plodders and the ones who are simply pushy and selfish. But still, I must love them.
I find it very difficult not to love.
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