This week in the balmy winter warmth of
the Lowveld, my boys reminded me of a few things.
Scott reminded me to wonder at wildlife –
to allow myself to be enthralled by the sensory assault of the African bush. I know
it’s irrational, but a few years ago one too many confrontations with crime
shifted something deep in me. I felt kind of betrayed and the fervent love I had
for this continent with its dust and song and sunsets somehow dissipated into a
polite distrust. As is his way, Scott brought healing. His blue-saucer-gaze
transfixed, his chubby finger pointing, his low, serious, half-terrified-half-captivated
hippo calls, awoke something in me and I
found myself falling in love again with the fish eagle’s cry and the pink dusk
and the stillness of fever trees over languid waters and I rediscovered the
thrill and the peace of knowing God has placed me and he has plans. Scott is so
drawn to animals and people, so soft with all living things. He reminded me that
every stray cat, Egyptian goose or human being is one of God’s creatures to be
greeted – loudly – regardless of their response. He reminded me that every day
is an adventure to be embraced and explored.
Cam reminded me of the power of constant
affirmation and the reassurance of unconditional love. He reminded me that
change can be hard and even little people are aware of the gamble of the unexpected
and the unexplained. He reminded me to keep praying, to keep creating the magic
that draws him into celebrating the sighted world and protects him from the loneliness
of difference. He reminded me that it’s good to show unconstrained exuberance. He
reminded me of the restorative powers of deep sleep and good food and big sky. He
reminded me that if one comes across a golf green at the end of the day one should
totally force your parents to be ridiculous and roll all over it. He reminded
me that sometimes it’s worth risking bilharzia. He reminded me to stay close to
Jesus and in all things to feel for the unforced rhythms of grace.
I was also reminded that our boys are multi-gazillionaires
when it comes to their family investments. I watched Cam and Scott make cute
nuisances of themselves on the golf course under the patient encouragement of their
dad, grampa and great-grampa. My own
gran passed away when Cam was only seven months old. This week Scott was playing
with an old string of costume beads that belonged to her – this woman who never
knew him but whose prayers for me growing up, for my future husband and family,
resonate in the hearts of my children.
Nanna knitted this jersey for you, Cam
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