walking at the speed of anna...

It has always been my joy to be a dad to our daughters. I have a small clay sculpture from ages past that says, "Any man can become a father; only some can be a dad." And now I have the double joy of being a grandad (or as I'm better known here: Gwad. When young, precocious Louie was trying to get his mouth around grandad, it first came out like a Welsh word: grwaadd. And quickly was simplified into "Gwad." And now that Anna is a part of the brood, we didn't even try to make a change. So, Gwad it is!) The Brooklyn crew was up in our hills this weekend for a whiteout snow fall. On Saturday we were out in the backyard throwing snowballs, making little snow villages and running around in the cold. On the Sabbath we took a long walk in the snowy woods - and as fate would have it I got to bring up the rear by walking at the speed of Anna.

For the past year this has become the natural course of things whenever we take a hike: everyone else has a different pace and Anna's moves with intentional slowness. She likes to pick things up to explore them. And then take a leisurely seat on a wood stump before chasing a butterfly or jumping off a rock. She is oblivious to time as most of us know it and moves through her young life accordingly. Her brother, Lou, is on a quest to learn new things. He doesn't race through the day, he has time to notice the sun, moon, stars, leaves and snow prints. It's just that there's so much to take in that is awesome - and he wants to embrace and understand it all - so he's off in a flurry. Anna, on the other hand, isn't so interested in analysis. She's an experiential gal who likes sto savor the day: she eats with creative apblom, she moves gracefully but without undue haste, and she speaks and dances as if time does not exist. Moving at the speed of Anna is a blessing and just the right way to honor Sabbath space.

Another aspect of moving at the speed of Anna happens after the family heads

home. The following day I usually devote to cleaning. It is a weekly embodied prayer that restores the semblance of order into my small world. I genuinely enjoy washing floors and clothes. Like Kathleen Norris notes in The Quotidian Mysteries:“The ordinary activities I find most compatible with contemplation are walking, baking bread, and doing laundry." Ordinary Mondays involve ordinary acts of cleaning. But on those Mondays following a weekend visit from the Brooklyn tribe, I start my cleaning oblation with a walk through the house to see what is hiding where? Sometimes a pink unicorn peeks out from under my desk. There are a host of articial butterflies lurking in the most unusual spots. To say nothing of candles, dog supplies, tea mugs, and various books and blankets piled into our assortment of small wicker baskets that are strewn about here and there. Step into the guest bathroom for a quick clean and behind the shower curtain is Anna art drawn on the walls with bathtub marker (who knew?) It is a fascinating way to both slow down and discover a little bit of what the world might be like through the eyes and heart of this wonderful little person who, indeed, moves at the speed of Anna. Kathleen Norris gives all of this her wise interpretation:

The Bible is full of evidence that God's attention is indeed fixed on the little things. But this is not because God is a great cosmic cop, eager to catch us in minor transgressions, but simply because God loves us--loves us so much that the divine presence is revealed even in the meaningless workings of daily life. It is in the ordinary, the here-and-now, that God asks us to recognize that the creation is indeed refreshed like dew-laden grass that is "renewed in the morning" or to put it in more personal and also theological terms, "our inner nature is being renewed everyday". Seen in this light, what strikes many modern readers as the ludicrous details in Leviticus involving God in the minuitae of daily life might be revisioned as the very love of God.

First born grandchild, Lou, is a whole other story: brilliant and talented with a mind like a computer that retains EVERYTHING (and I mean everything!), this child has perfect pitch, is a math/science wizzard, reads voraciously and retains even the most arcane factoids because, "who knows, Gwad, I might need to know that sometime." Indeed. We are into playing and practicing music these days: Lou has been singing in the Trinity Wall Street youth choir for a few years and is now taking dance and ukelele lessons. His music teachers run a hip shop in Brooklyn called Jalopy that specializes in bluegrass stringed instruments. So, in addition to "When the Saints" and "You Are My Sunshine," we're now grooving to "Rolling in My Sweet Baby's Arms" and "Shady Grove." He's usually a half mile ahead of Anna and myself on our hikes although somethimes he holds back to ask me questions about erosion or Nor'Easters. He, too, is the delight of my heart and moves to the beat of his own unique drum. He's never been one to move at the speed of Anna though and these days I want to savor as much time with both of these angels as possible.

Now a certain quietude has returned to our little home in the hills. The snow from two recent storms has melted. The floors have been vacuumed and washed with a coat of polish on the kitchen. Lucie is back to sleeping on the sofa in the sun room and the errant toys are back in their natural homes. I'm making Hungarian Chicken Paprikash solo tonight - no little helping hands - as I try to keep in touch with the joy of moving according to Ms. Anna. We won't see these treasures until Easter weekend so this weekend past must serve as part of my Lenten fast where making a place for Sabbath rest happens every day.