A little Lenten story
When my children were small, I didn’t forget their names – how could I? – yet as often as not my tongue would take two or three wrong turnings on its way to the beloved standing in front of it, and bewildered.
I decided one day that it was a failure to pay attention.
I do not know if this was right or wrong, and once, anyway, the eldest called me by the cat’s name before finding the word for mother.
I do remember that when I paused, took the fraction of a breath to focus, to see the child, the wondrous creature the broke the mould of God’s image when they were born (as every child will), I rarely misspoke their name.
Lately, I’ve been confusing Wednesdays and Thursdays a lot.
I put it down to the pace of life, the busyness, a lack of sleep, too many things to plan ahead and remember and drag along and things undone and things to do.
Perhaps if I would pause for half a hair, look into the eyes of the One who created Wednesday, Thursday, and the dark times in between, I would stand less chance of stumbling.
over the water 