My House of Lost Play
When I woke up yesterday morning it was with the usual sensation of half-assuaged exhaustion. When I woke up this morning, it was with a feeling of looseness and lightness. I haven't stopped smiling all day. Give me a flexible birch tree to climb and I believe I could fly from the top of it. I'm a bird. Do you hear, sky? I'm a bird, and I'm coming!
What happened in those twenty-four hours to elicit such a change? Ostensibly, nothing: yesterday in my capacity as a teacher I conducted an extracurricular activity for my class---an all-day viewing of the longer Pride and Prejudice movie---and then accompanied the family of one of my students to a party where other students and parents were present.
Nonsense. You can say that's who I was and what I was doing if you want, but it wasn't and I didn't. Yesterday I found my House of Lost Play again, all unexpectedly in Middletown Valley, and played in it. I prayed and fellowshipped in the midst of a family that I love and loved every second of being with them. I did flips on the trampoline. I lay on my back in the sun and counted clouds. I made a fall bouquet. I put leaves in my hair. I saw the heart of a bonfire. I promised a twelve-year-old that I would roll down a hill and kept my promise. I explored the woods in the dark with only a flashlight and a friend. I cuddled a three-year-old and told her stories.
My heart lurched and skipped a beat when I was driven through Middletown Valley for the first time yesterday. The patchwork of farms was like something out of Wordsworth's Lake District or Yellowstone Park. To crown all, it bore the fine burnished patina of autumn. At the festival, while at the rolling-down place (let's call it Suicide Hill), I lost my heart again to a small little boy named Jack. I traded stories and songs with a girl named Julie. I made jokes; I bantered; most of all, I laughed. I laughed all day at everything that was funny and sometimes I laughed for pleasure because I wanted to laugh.
It was pure play. It was a day of gold and red and orange and music and Neoclassical grace and a good romance (the real kind, with sin and growth and passion and forgiveness on both sides) superbly acted, and dear people who love each other and opportunities to do the girls' hair and guitar music and children's shrieks and giggles and the dance of flames in the bonfire pit. There was sky, sky, sky and air, air, air---daysky and dayair; nightsky and nightair; sky and air and fire!
And next time, God willing, I won't be so frail---I'll be able to do more flips, to run and chase and hit the ball with everybody else. I feel like Colin from the Secret Garden, like a person who's been bedridden for years but is going to get well and live for ever and ever.
Dear God, who am I that I should be blessed as much as this? Domine, Domine, te gratias ago. Te gratias ago totissime. Shari and Todd, Ellie and Shane, Julie and Jack and little Chloe, I'll carry the memory of that day with me through many hard days ahead. Thank you! Thank you so much. It meant everything to me to be allowed to play.
What happened in those twenty-four hours to elicit such a change? Ostensibly, nothing: yesterday in my capacity as a teacher I conducted an extracurricular activity for my class---an all-day viewing of the longer Pride and Prejudice movie---and then accompanied the family of one of my students to a party where other students and parents were present.
Nonsense. You can say that's who I was and what I was doing if you want, but it wasn't and I didn't. Yesterday I found my House of Lost Play again, all unexpectedly in Middletown Valley, and played in it. I prayed and fellowshipped in the midst of a family that I love and loved every second of being with them. I did flips on the trampoline. I lay on my back in the sun and counted clouds. I made a fall bouquet. I put leaves in my hair. I saw the heart of a bonfire. I promised a twelve-year-old that I would roll down a hill and kept my promise. I explored the woods in the dark with only a flashlight and a friend. I cuddled a three-year-old and told her stories.
My heart lurched and skipped a beat when I was driven through Middletown Valley for the first time yesterday. The patchwork of farms was like something out of Wordsworth's Lake District or Yellowstone Park. To crown all, it bore the fine burnished patina of autumn. At the festival, while at the rolling-down place (let's call it Suicide Hill), I lost my heart again to a small little boy named Jack. I traded stories and songs with a girl named Julie. I made jokes; I bantered; most of all, I laughed. I laughed all day at everything that was funny and sometimes I laughed for pleasure because I wanted to laugh.
It was pure play. It was a day of gold and red and orange and music and Neoclassical grace and a good romance (the real kind, with sin and growth and passion and forgiveness on both sides) superbly acted, and dear people who love each other and opportunities to do the girls' hair and guitar music and children's shrieks and giggles and the dance of flames in the bonfire pit. There was sky, sky, sky and air, air, air---daysky and dayair; nightsky and nightair; sky and air and fire!
And next time, God willing, I won't be so frail---I'll be able to do more flips, to run and chase and hit the ball with everybody else. I feel like Colin from the Secret Garden, like a person who's been bedridden for years but is going to get well and live for ever and ever.
Dear God, who am I that I should be blessed as much as this? Domine, Domine, te gratias ago. Te gratias ago totissime. Shari and Todd, Ellie and Shane, Julie and Jack and little Chloe, I'll carry the memory of that day with me through many hard days ahead. Thank you! Thank you so much. It meant everything to me to be allowed to play.
posted by Praelucor at 5:52 PM
1 Comments:
I laugh.
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