“Want to take a walk?” I ask. The winter weather is mild. Lonny and a couple of the older boys are away and Zay and I have the afternoon alone.
“Sure,” he says. My fifth child. My easy-to-please.
We pull on boots. Mine are for snow but his are cowboy boots. As we walk down the drive, they clickety-clack.
And we walk.
We walk down the road that runs from our house to the country. We walk until we see open space and fields and farms.
And while we walk, the sun is on our backs.
And while we walk, my son’s heart opens.
At first, we talk about the weather and the want of snow. We chat about the runner sled that waits in the garage and the hill that's a weak green. Conversation skims the surface. But as we move along, things change. Isaiah begins to share from the soul. He speaks little-boy life and childhood dreams. He speaks of things hidden deep.
I ask questions. I respond to the beat of his heart. By now we’re away from the crazy. We’ve taken reprieve from the wild. Though we’re only a quarter- of-a-mile down the road, we’re far enough from fast living that I can hear my son. I can hear his heart.These moments, this undivided, unshared sliver of time is gold to me. It’s worth more than anything I could hold with my hands.
And I wonder, is this how it is with the Lord?
Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us. Psalm 62:8 ESV
Pour out your heart.
Oh, the grace in this. The sweet amazing grace. That the Lord would want me to share from the heart.
Heart-pouring, soul-sharing, takes effort and time.
I think about this, as we walk along. As my son has grown quiet. As his soul has been shared and there’s peace.
This time of reaching past the superficial into the things that matter, into the things that make a person, into the precious-intimate things, was the result of an effort. A separation. An intentional, purposeful act.
Lord, give me the wisdom, the desire, to walk alone with You.
As I’ve delighted in the soul-sharing of my son, I understand how the Lord must delight in the times that I share with Him. In the times that my spirit opens wide. In the times when there is no distraction, no barrier, and I’m like a child, wanting to be known.
While we walk along, our shadows fall and Isaiah reaches for my hand. We move down the hill, toward our home. The winter sun begins to slip but the two of us are settled and still.
There is value in quiet moments.