There is something about this place – this cabin – this location with its views and serenity that calls me to prayer. Every morning since we have been here, I make my coffee in the French press, scramble some turkey sausage into my egg white/egg substitute for a 175 calorie, no-cholesterol breakfast and sit out on the back porch staring north towards the
Using a labyrinth, the Lord’s Prayer, and a prayer written by Heri Nouwen (part 2 of 2) as inspiration, I enjoy the silence and the prayers and the coffee. I have to say before any of that could commence on Sunday, the silence was shattered. I sadly confess at this point, the last few days have been rather tense ones. I have not won any parenting of the year awards this weekend. Hell, to even think I would be nominated would be akin to suggesting that “Harold and Kumar” be nominated for Oscars.
I have a 10 year old boy whose body is changing, whose hormones are raging and doing funny things. His mood swings have me “this close” to calling him “Sybil.” I knew this would come one day - that ironic combination of adolescence and karma, but I was hoping for a couple of more years before my oldest transformed into this thing I do not recognized at times. Of course, I also have a 3 year old boy who is – well, he is three. Enough said. It can be a lethal combination for a man such as my self who lives in anxiety, possesses a short fuse, and a family history of heart issues.
The eldest and I came to a head Sunday morning as I preparing myself to pray. Let’s just say the mountains roared and I am sure somewhere, the seas churned and foamed. After the climax between the eldest and me, I returned to my physical praying place, but could not go there spiritually. I sat there with my head in my hands, my body shaking – not with anger, but with guilt. Thankfully it was quiet so I could collect myself. After about 10 minutes, the silence was again shattered.
The sliding glass door to the porch opened and from its cracks came a voice – a sweet, kind, familiar voice. It was the voice of the eldest – the 10 year old. “Daddy,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too, son. I am very sorry.”
“Will you ever be able to forgive me,” he asked?
My heart sank. “Of course I will forgive you. I will always forgive you. Will you forgive me?”
And then he wrapped his strong, skinny, 10 year old arms around my neck and hugged me. Grace.
It was then; I was able to begin my time in prayer.
