Learning What I Need

    A certain forms of spirituality idealizes a solitary quest for God in the wilderness, in the silence and solemnity of the monastery.  I think of bullets I've read about the old medieval saints who'd spend weeks, months, alone and would extraordinary encounters with God and described it in the most beautiful spiritual writings, such as St. John of the Cross.
    Often God has met in alone times.  I consciously look for times to be away from home, in nature with God, so that I can connect to him in a deeper  or different way than when home with Bible, pen and notebook.
    Yet lately I feel it's hard to be alone.  Perhaps its because of this transition in life - children grown to ages 16 and 18 and living largely independent from me and home.  Perhaps because when I'm home alone for three hours and do feel the urge to talk to someone and call three phone numbers, I usually find no one at home.  Perhaps it's because I still feel at a largely unconscious level the loss of my mother and all that means as to growing old and facing death myself.
    Today God met me in the face of a child.
    Last week I went to see the baby of my neighbor. I'd asked Heather after her baby was a month old, if I could come see her infant. I asked by e-mail rather than knocking on the door or calling because I didn't want to wake anyone up.  I remember well how exhausted I was after a second child came and nap times for me became so rare.  She said she would contact me. Well six weeks passed before I heard from her and then she said, "Just call when you think of it."  So I did.
    Last Friday I went and delivered garden grown tangerines and admired both her two children.  She told me of a doctor's appointment to happen today.  I volunteered to watch her two (three?) year old while she took the baby.  So today I hung out with Ellen for and hour and a half.
    I loved it!  In contrast to when I used to watch Owen (my poet friend's son) at about that age, I continued enjoying it after the first hour.  Owen would counter pennies for an hour at at time and expect me to keep watching him. Ellen, on the other hand, puttered at her play kitchen, put on dress up clothes, and liked picture books.
    I also loved it because Ellen gave me so much wonderful facial feedback. Every time I smiled at her, she smiled at me. I watched her play with her kitchen outside and gave her ideas of what to make with the little lemons from their backyard tree-- lemon pudding, mouse, lemonade. I applauded her efforts to cook and pretended to eat what she served me.
     And oh the sweet joy of sharing the picture books I'd brought from my own children's library and light warmth of her petite frame on my lap.
    The give and take of smiles we gave each other sent to me the message that I was appreciated, liked, perhaps even delighted in for that moment.  I need that. That kind of simple affirmation will do From the heart of a toddler will do.  It's God's message to me.
    I miss that sometimes in the faces of my family, teachers and pastors.  Sometimes they are in a hurry, preoccupied, worried or some other reason. 
    Lately Collin has been following my counselor's advice to smile at me more.  It's very affirming for me.  Sometimes I ask him for a smile when he's forgotten.  I love it when he smiles -- his whole face lights up. 
    For me a genuine smile is a light from God.  A child's smile is enough for me.