This morning, in the last few minutes before we were to leave for school, I found my nine-year-old son stationed in front of the glass door that overlooks the bird feeders on our back porch. He was sitting there, cross-legged, and he whispered, "Quiet" as I entered the room.
We sat there for ten minutes, watching the birds. Mostly finches, brown finches. The dogs entered the room, and my son again whispered, "Quiet." The dogs were uncharacteristically cooperative. My wife came in. "Quiet," my son said again. My wife, too, cooperated. We left the house with quiet good wishes to each other, a quiet closing of the door.
How frequently I forget that there's a sacrament to be had in watching birds eat their breakfast.
Rantings and reflections from a middle-aged man who simulataneously loves some aspects of Catholicism and wrestles painfully with some of the faith's other teachings and traits. An unapologetic "cafeteria Catholic." Not ready to give up on this church just yet, not ready to jump ship; just trying to light a couple emergency flares...or maybe just light a single candle rather than curse the darkness, to borrow the words of the Christophers. Welcome to my version of progressive Catholicism.
1 comment:
What a great way to start the day.
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