"The question is not what you look at, but what you see." - Henry David Thoreau
You never know from where a lesson will come.
I picked my behemoth son up from football practice the other day. It was the day before game day, which means "walk through" and team meetings and a hearty, carbohydrate and protein packed meal. He threw his enormous, over-sized gym bag that always seems to smell like a locker room into the trunk and plopped himself down in the passenger's seat. Within seconds of contact, the right hand side of the old brown sedan dropped a good 6 inches.
"How was walk through?" I asked, always hopeful that I'll get more than a one-word answer. I'm determined, if nothing else.
"Fine." Of course it was.
"What was for dinner?"
"Chicken."
I paused a moment, noticing that this conversation seemed strangely familiar. "Was it good?"
"Yeah."
So much for the warm up act. What I really wanted to know was what went on in the team meetings. Having never been inside a football locker room, I am really curious about what goes on behind that big red door.
"What's the plan for the game this week?" I asked, knowing full well that I was venturing into triple top secret, if-I-tell-you-I-might-have-to-kill-you territory.
He glanced over at me with one of his "your not going to give up, are you?" looks. I kept my eyes straight ahead as the slightest of smiles crossed my lips.
"Coach told us to 'keep our eyes up'. This team blitzes a lot. If we keep our eyes up, we can see what's coming and we’ll know what to do."
My son plays on the offensive line. They’re a tight knit group, a team within a team. They’re responsible for protecting the quarterback, allowing him enough time to initiate the play. They read and react to the situation and their eyes are one of their most important assets. The offensive line doesn’t get much glory, but if they don’t do their job, believe me, you notice.
It’s funny how seeing clearly seems to be a life lesson these days.
I never was much for haunted houses. As a kid spending summers on the boardwalk of the Jersey shore, haunted houses were always a must do. We'd pile in the tiny cars, pull down the lap bar and sit back as the car took a big jerk and headed into the darkness. Full of anticipation for what was to come, the screaming would start almost immediately, even before we reached the big metal doors that swung open at the exact second you were about to crash into them.
I ALWAYS closed my eyes.
I didn't like things jumping out at me. I didn't like not being able to see what was coming. I was OK if the lights were on, if I could see that the hand that was about to reach out and grab me was really nothing more than a collection of nuts and bolts and wires and plastic wrapped awkwardly on to a piece of PVC pipe, but with the lights off? Without being able to see clearly? Nope. Being in the dark is just not my thing.
Some things never change.
We baptized a friend's baby daughter the other day. I've been to quite a few baptisms over the course of my life and I am always struck by the baptismal vows, the part where the parents, godparents, and the entire congregation promise to look out for this new little member of the community. To stand beside her parents and support them in the daunting task of raising a child in this often crazy world of ours. To watch over them and take care of them. To guide them and nurture them and support them. To be a part of their team, protecting them and watching out for them.
To keep our eyes up, so we can see what's coming and know how to react.
And then, after all the baptismal promises were made, we lit a candle.
Apparently I'm not the only one who doesn't like the darkness.