My four year-old sits quietly in the pew with his pen and paper. All around him, the sanctuary is dark and full of mystery.
His slow hand moves and concentrates across the space and centimeters of paper. I hear deep, unspoken conversations taking place between him and the lines and shapes.
He works like a surgeon, speaks from behind a mask. On my side of childhood, words can get lost here.
But he remains present in his space. He listens to the curves and follows their subtle turns.
A word captures his attention, though his parents don’t know it yet. We glance over, from time to time, to watch him, thinking we’re the ones monitoring him.
He is still and focused. Like a prayer.
And then he reveals his work. He lifts the word like a beating organ. And smiles. His eyes are bright. They give a new shape to mystery.
Holy.
My heart opens and picks up an extra beat when I see the word dangle from his hand. Plaque crumbles to the sanctuary floor. I’m breathing again, looking up, once again, for lines and shapes.
And for my Father’s eyes.
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I’ve been teaching a women’s Sunday School class at my church, and we were talking about different ways we process God’s word. A number of the women in our class are artists, and they said doodling during a sermon helps them concentrate. One of the moms said she was always trying to discourage her boys from doodling during church. We told her, “For heavens sake! Let the boys doodle!”
Yes, let the children come — and doodle. As a new teacher, I used to take offense when a student doodled “instead of listened.”
But doodling can help a person process and retain information. Research supports it. It’s just another life example, I guess, of how sometimes an activity will look like a disruption. But, really, it’s just different and messy and maybe beautiful.
Matthew, good to see this highlighted at TheHighCalling.org.
Thanks, Sam. I encourage everyone to visit TheHighCalling.org. The ideas and discussion there are so encouraging and thoughtful. Most importantly, it’s a place to soak in beauty and truth. Sometimes the soak leaves a sting. But it always adds life.
Yes, a lot of life there.
By the way, Sam, your article (“Promised Land Gone”) is a perfect example of why I believe in these conversations, and confessions, taking place at The High Calling. I felt a real peace and encouragement from that .17 sliver you placed on the altar. I hope more people read it.
https://www.catapultmagazine.com/half-an-acre/feature/promised-land-gone
I’m amazed at how the stories that strike me come from hard places. There is deep grace in that. Thanks for reading. It’s good to know that grace also pays dividends beyond the story-teller.
Matthew,
Really, really like this piece.
Thank you, Amy. In that quiet moment I was startled — both as a father and as a son. Sometimes God has a funny way of illuminating our roles.
Maybe that is why Jesus beckoned to “let the children come unto me” because they could see him for all that he was and embrace the “holy.” What a word and a magnificent gift of praise to the father.
Amen
“Let the children come.” Whenever I hear that phrase, I can almost feel someone start to jump out from under my skin. Phooey on me for telling that child to get back inside. Thanks for your comment, Melody. Sorry I was so late in responding.
What a beautiful first word. The moment you shared was, indeed, holy.
Children have an uncanny way of remaining sanctified and set apart. Their words speak so much life. So do yours, Denise.
Oh, to live and see and write from his side of childhood. What a gift.
And it’s a gift “to live and see and write” from our side of childhood, too. Blessings.
“But he remains present in his space.”
I pray that for us. That we would be present in our present and weave our words from that space.
We need these prayers. May He answer them with Presence …
Blessings, Sandra. Thanks for stopping by.
“He is still and focused. Like a prayer”
Oh my.
Yes.
May my life look this way.
God reveals so much through our sweet children.
It’s good to hear from you, friend. So which is more difficult for us, I wonder? Being still or being focused?
I love when God creates a sacred moment out of the ordinary! I am so glad you slowed down time enough to recognize it.
He teaches us to see the sacred in the ordinary, doesn’t He? Thanks for your comment, KD.
Thanks for stopping by my site. Yes, I think a lot of times we need a rest from thoughts of “what shall I do when I’m finished with THIS that I’m doing now?”
Thanks for sharing your meeting with God as pointed to by your son. May you have many more “special moments” when God draws near, and love seems clear.
“when God draws near, and love seems clear.” That sounds beautiful. I can hear His closeness in those words … Thank you for sharing.
Wow…what a profound moment to witness…thanks for sharing, Matthew.
Thank you. And thank goodness I wasn’t too wrapped up in the sermon: What a tragedy if I had missed seeing this!
This is holy, sacred … the child who teaches the grown-ups how to slow, and lean into the curve of words and life. So.very.nice.
Maybe it’s okay for us to act like children … for us to discover the holy and sacred, like a child. Maybe we can allow ourselves to stumble and lean into the holy — and trust that understanding will come after we learn our lines and shapes.
Always so glad to feel your spirit stop by here, Jennifer.
O.K., this is cool… look forward to more.
Thanks for the visit.
Thank you, Debbie. I look forward to seeing you.
Ah the plaque that was left behind there because of your precious child. Loved that line!
And how your son’s purity and the light in his eyes must be a daily reminder of God’s grace.
I can picture him intent on his purpose…holy! To be like that child once again, focused, but so innocently and naturally…just the way it was meant to be!
Hi, Lorraine. God gives us work each day, an opportunity to be intent with holy purpose. May I have eyes to see it. It takes prayer.
How beautiful…that he is so in tune with God and the whole atmosphere of church. You are doing a great job.
Thanks, Shanda. We have to keep tuning our hearts, don’t we? My own strings tend to hold their tune more like a guitar than a piano. But, yes, church helps.
Love the line of the heart-plaque crumbling to the floor. How apt a description of my own at times.
Better to crumble than to harden, eh?
We never know how God moves inside the heads and hearts of our children, do we? Sometimes I want to rein it all in, grab control of their spiritual lives…but the Holy Spirit? A better teacher than I, I warrant. A beautiful moment, Matthew. See how you capture them?
Controlling the spiritual lives of our children. While I’ve yet to arrive at this spot on the obstacle course, I know it’s coming. I can only imagine the lessons, bruises and scribbles that await me …
How wonderful that our kids know the father’s heart instinctively…
And how wonderful that grace helps us to remember …
The simplicity of the holy – yes, even a child can write. But perhaps children, in their simplicity, experience the holy in a way we have long since abandoned. This was beautiful.
“…experience the holy in a way we have long since abandoned.” I could probably devote an entire year to meditating over the truth in that line. Meanwhile, of course, the children just do their thing. :) Glad to hear from you. By the way, how’s that rug holding up?
Oh, that I might be so still and focused, writing truth so clearly.
My teen daughters are making art in the other room–whimsical swirling letters that spell things like, “You Are Loved.” It is true, beautiful, colorful, and delightful.
But this…these letters in the hand of a four-year-old boy…this is…holy.
Children reveal so many beautiful moments indeed. But let’s face it: a few moments more and they start using a finger to remove the contents from their noses. Their moments of beauty are so perfect and, yes, so fleeting. We must savor them and learn from them, while we can. Thanks for your comment, Ann. And by the way, I really enjoyed your recent piece about the art museum (linked over at The High Calling)!
Beautiful.
Thanks, Shelly. Those four letters remind me of how even our most ordinary movements can point toward the beautiful, especially when they begin from a childlike heart.
I can see this vision of his smile and bright eyes. That itself is holy. Oh, how I love your family.
Thank you. I’m so blessed. So thankful. And so very often surprised, too!
Beautiful Matthew. Thank you. How absolutely lovely!
Henry sure knows how to get inside my heart … Thanks for your comment, Linda.
Lovely. Moving. And as a parent of a five and a two year old son, I know how your heart swells when God moves in their young hearts. What a beautiful moment you’ve shared with us.
Before my boys came along, I didn’t really have any reference point for how God would move through their hearts — and then invade my own heart. It’s crazy stuff. Thanks so much for visiting, Kristy. May God bless your family.
He is still and focused. Like a prayer.
Wow….so much to love about that line!
I need to get more of my prayers into that shape …
Good to hear from you, Christa!