Famous children’s book author Margaret Wise Brown once remarked wryly to a former professor: “When you talk to a child, he may not be listening to you at all. He will just be feeling the fur collar of your coat.”
Yes, the author of “Goodnight Moon” and other children’s classics featuring cute little animals did wear a lot of fur.
More importantly, her simple observation also conveyed Brown’s guiding mantra known as “here and now.” She believed that children focus upon objects that appeal to their senses in the moment. This laser-like fixation can be maddening when you are late for an appointment, and you’ve already told your child to put on his shoes three — no, four times! But noticing the here and now can also be holy.
Melissa A. Butler is a teacher, writer and consultant whose work revolves around “the art of noticing” what is before us. According to Butler, this noticing approach “honors the wisdom and immensity of small things.” I have learned this paradox of the immensity of small things from my children who, like many kids, are resident experts of the here and now.
The other day, in my parents’ basement, my son and daughter, ages 6 and 4, played for 30 minutes with a single red balloon. They began by batting it in the air, trying to keep it from hitting the ground and shrieking with laughter when it did.
Tiring of this game, my daughter suggested that they name their balloon. After a brief yet intense caucus, they agreed upon Cherry. My son declared that Cherry was freezing, which meant that it needed to be nestled in a bed of old blankets. A few minutes later, Cherry was ready to get up, and they all tromped to the other side of the room where they were promptly ambushed by imaginary monsters! My kids defended Cherry with karate chops and flying kicks; the balloon suffered no collateral damage in the melee.
Not every day affords the leisure of a trip to my parents’ home, but Butler advises adults to make time to “wonder” (in both senses of the word) about small objects with their imaginations: “Let yourself play, notice what happens.” Through noticing with patient, holy attention, we can make sense of the huge, often overwhelming world. We narrow our focus to what we can hold in our hands and wrap our arms around. As poet William Blake put it, “Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand.”
Before my children dashed upstairs for lunch, they handed over Cherry to my safekeeping. As I held the balloon, I remembered when my kids were not much bigger and how I cradled them when they were red-faced from crying. “There, there,” I’d soothe them. “You are safe. You are loved.”
This memory was a small thing. But the wonder of it was that I realized how badly I need to hear those same assurances: You are safe. You are loved. Cradling Cherry, I suddenly felt lighter. Then, I hustled upstairs after my little loved ones.
Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church. His newly-published book is a collection of his columns for the Chatham News + Record titled “Hope Matters: Churchless Sermons.”