"Mommy?" my little girl who happens to have Down syndrome inquires. "Mommy?.... Mommy?" I'm distracted and dizzily busy. I don't hear her. But she implores emphatically. "Mommy!?"
The frequency and fervor of her voice finally catches my attention. I stop what I am doing. Turn. Look at her. Her face has furled eyebrows and a serious expression. Unusual for my typically content and happy girl. She is concerned about something. She stammers in her special way, trying to say just the right words, but not knowing how to express her query.
"Mommy?" she inquires again.
"Yes, my dear." I can see she is relieved that she has my attention. That perhaps her puzzlement will be answered.
Her face curls and her emotional voice stutters just a little. "Mommy, when you are a thousand years old who will make supper?"
"Oh."
I grin just a little. Mostly inside. She is serious. And it is upsetting her. How do I explain to her that I will not be one thousand years old? That by the time she is my age I will most likely not be living in this body? That one day I will be gone and she will still be. And furthermore, that one day, she too, will die. How does one describe this to a child? Any child. Her understanding is literal and concrete. Try explaining redemption, death, and heaven without using abstracts. I don't completely understand it all. How to explain it to her?
"Don't you fret my dear. Before I reach one thousand I will teach you to make your own supper." Her eyes brighten and then her follow-up question is asked.
"Can we make macaroni and cheese?"
"Sure we can," I say with reassurance. Happy that the idea that I won't be here to take care of my vulnerable daughter is becoming less acute. Push the thought down.... down deep. If I don't think about it perhaps it won't happen.
"But we don't have any in the cupboard Mommy," she interrupts my thoughts.
"Oh, I will teach you to go to the store and buy things as well. You will have your supper."
She sighs and smiles that smile of innocent glee and seems comforted. "Great!" she exclaims and returns to her thoughts and game.
But my thoughts linger. In life there are sunrises. Full of hope and promise. The sun lingers and nourishes as the circle unwinds. But then it always ends with a sunset. Some more beautiful than others. Some very uneventful. And I ponder awhile. "I hope my sunset is beautiful.... I hope and pray that her memory is filled with bright lights and warm love. I hope the colors at the end of my journey are deep and long." And I remember that sunsets are often due to dust or fragments of particles in the air which are reflected as the beams of setting light strike them at an angle.
The dust is a result of the happenings of the day.
What kind of dust am I raising today? Will it reflect the Light? I am uncertain. The busyness that I approach and attack the day with is often filled not with beautiful sunset makers but monotonous day breakers. Ending in exhaustion not knowing where I've been. Spinning in routines and deadlines. Responding to the daily tyranny of the urgent.
But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." (Matthew 6:33).
Sunset makers are a result of doing and being the person one was created to be. Today, I hope to keep on the forefront of my heart and mind that in order to end beautifully one must live beautifully. Sunsets are the result of the day's doings.
"Mommy?" she implores again. Another question has crossed her mind.
"Will there be "pa-sketti" in heaven?" And as I smile ever so slightly and pause in my response she adds, "Who will make supper in heaven?" "Where will my room be?" What will our house look like?"
I grin outright. "Oh my dear one, you will live in a house that is beautiful.... And yes, there will probably be "pa-sketti" there too. I bet it will be the best you've ever tasted."
She giggles and grins. And returns to her game. Oh, the thoughts of a child.
Today's Journey Joy - life lived fully
