Where are you...

Last time I updated this blog, I had a 3 year old boy and a 1 year old boy. I said something about my "annual update". Well, so much for annual updates. The mystery that is time has changed my 3 year old into a 6 year old, my 1 year old into a 4 year old, and dropped a baby girl into our life. I'm not going to begin to try and fill in the last 3 years for you. Actually, those of you who actually kept up with this blog (the Faithful Four) have seen my kiddos over the years and know what's happened. Some of you see us more often now than you used to, even.

So, rather than talk about the past, let's talk about the now.

I love Heather more now than I did then, if that's possible. We're in St Louis. Our roster of children is as follows: Joey D (6). Bobby (4, in two days). Ruby Jane (6 months, with the hair of a rebellious 15 year old who may or may not live in a trailer park).

This blog used to serve as a good outlet for exorcising my thoughts. I still have thoughts (gasp), and although there are other outlets (lately a pen and paper has been a favorite of mine, but random conversations with Heather, a couple friends, and various strangers have also proven to be useful and effective), I think it's time to scratch out some thoughts on this here blog. And so I will.

I woke up this morning, and went into to Ruby Jane's room to change her. A grin and a full-body wiggle expressed her mood, and cleared my mind like no cup of coffee ever has. Recently, she's developed an affinity for playing peek-a-boo. Coincidentally, I also enjoy a good game of peek-a-boo, so within a couple minutes we found ourselves engaged in a lively match.

As I heard myself saying the words, "where's Ruby Jane? THERE she is...", my mind was turning the phrase over and wondering what it is about this game that is so attractive and delightful. I think I've come to a conclusion, beyond the obvious. Obviously, I love to see my little girl smile; the smile is The Thing. So when she smiles at me after each "...there she is!", my heart leaps. A natural high, it is.

But there's something more at play here... another layer. For a brief moment in the middle of a good game of peek-a-boo, I lose sight of my child, and she loses sight of me. We're disconnected, if only for a matter of seconds. And I wonder, what else is it that kicks me into that "natural high"? Is it the smile alone, or is it the reconnection? I love - no, I need - to find my children. It's part of my DNA, part of being a parent. Whether in the fleeting moment of a game of peek-a-boo, or the terrifying minutes when I lose sight of them at the park, the moment when I find them makes my heart leap. The clean edges of those moments make them easy to recognize, easy to remember. But the truth of it is, with the distractions of life constantly buzzing around my head, I'll admit that there are entire days when I'm not connected. I interact, but I don't engage. Without realizing it, I've lost sight of my children, and allowed them to lose sight of me. And then something happens, something wakes me up, and I realize - sometimes frantically - that I have to find my family. My children are eager to reconnect, like Ruby Jane, waiting with anticipation for me to wake up and say "where are you... THERE you are!" And in that moment, there is nothing else. Just us. It's as if someone has just passed smelling salts under my nose, and I see my children clearly...

I see Joey D and his analytical mind, always ready to have a conversation about the why, about what is behind the curtain or beneath the surface. I see Bobby, who has his mother's imagination and joy, who is usually in character as a dinosaur, or Darth Vader. I see my Ruby Jane, who is taking everything in and seems to love every minute of life, and is obviously gearing up to give Thing 1 and Thing 2 a run for their money.

And then the joy in my heart moves over to make room for the shame that comes because I've allowed the peripherals of life to cloud my vision. I'm blessed that children are forgiving, that my wife is patient. I feel for those who wake up too late, who wake up to find that those they seek have grown, or have gone.

I'm grateful that the Lord brings these things to mind while I'm playing peek-a-boo with my girl... gentle nudges to keep me awake.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find my children.

© Joshua Dufek, 2010