Some Things are Mysteries
a father's day reflection
Dad and I will talk about baseball. He’ll make the drive north to watch his grandson play his heart out in little league games. We’ll talk about traffic only if it’s bad, because most downfalls happen in bad traffic.
How was the traffic?
Great.
We nod. Nothing left to say. It was a breeze.
The weather is similar. Uncontrollable. Yet, still we talk about it.
Another heat wave coming.
His grandson is up to bat and gets reamed in the side by a pitcher with a wild arm. My boy goes down, grasping his stomach, helmet on the ground. We hold our parental instincts at bay while the coaches offer help. Protection after the incident.
He rises and takes a base, while we clap with relief.
Some people say we like to talk about things we can’t control because we just want to control them. Like traffic and the weather. Or our kids getting hit. Or that new arthritic flare in your hand, or that ache in your back, or the gap between you and your friend. Or child. Or parent.
Moses wanted to see God face to face. But God said no. I think about that story a lot. How God told him to hide in a cleft of a rock and He’d shelter Moses with His presence while He walked by. Moses felt his Father’s presence, but to see His face? That was too much. Who could bare it?
His glory passes by and we reach out. The tips of our fingers catching in the wind.
My dad’s generation is known for their matter-of-fact ways, and waste not, want not slogans. What you see is what you get, my dad will say. To some extent that’s true. He’s a simple man. But I call bullshit.
Who could look anyone fully in the face and bare it? There’s got to be more.
And so, we talk about the weather and traffic. Watching a game we both love. Maybe it’s humility, maybe its ignorance. Because this is all we can bare.
To step out from the cleft would reveal too much.
So we reach out, fingertips catching the wind.