Sunbeams falling on an ordinary school day invoke the spiritual for Thomas Fiffer’s son.
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We stood in the doorway, my sons and I, leaving a little late for school this morning, and I said, as usual, “Come on, guys, get into the car.”
But my older son wasn’t moving. He was standing, staring up into the yard, blocking my way out the door.
“There’s the light again.”
“What do you mean, the light?”
I looked up and saw exactly what he meant.
Sunbeams stretching down from the sky, slanting gracefully through the light morning mist, landing gloriously on the damp green lawn.
Sunbeams stretching down from the sky, slanting gracefully through the light morning mist, landing gloriously on the damp green lawn.
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“You mean like before.”
“Yes!”
“I’m glad you’re noticing,” thinking to myself, I am teaching them well.
“Do you think they’re angels?” he asked me.
This question was beyond anything I had contributed to his understanding.
“Yes,” I answered. “They’re your angels. Your guardians.”
He smiled, then stopped smiling. “But what about you?”
“They’re our guardian angels, here for all of us.”
“Good. So what do guardian angels do?”
“They protect us, from everything.”
He looked at me quizzically. “Not from everything. We could be eaten by wolves.”
“Even from wolves,” I said. “Even from wolves.”
“Do you think they’re angels?” he asked me.
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And I thought about my son’s intense boldness and courage—he is a fighter—which I admire—and his deepest fears—of the unexpected, life-changing event, like his parents getting divorced or a surprise attack by a pack of wolves.
And I felt the weight, the delicious weight, of my job as his father of keeping those wolves from our door.
And I felt the gratitude for those other guardians, the ones who stand silently by our door in darkness, watching over us, then appear ever so briefly in the blessing of morning light.
The ones I believe are heaven-sent.
The ones I trust when I say goodbye to my sons at school in the morning, when I commute into the big city every day, when I fly through the air to visit family, and when I courageously extend myself by sharing my work, my true work, with the world.
And I believe when we as fathers, as parents, are present, when we show up, when we stand up each day to be counted, and focus our effort on what counts, that is when those guardians are present for us and our children. Reticence, defensiveness, hiding—these offer no protection. When we offer our real selves, imperfect, fragile, vulnerable, as is—take us or leave us—that is when we are strongest.
Previously published on the Tom Aplomb blog.
Photo courtesy of author.
You can find Thomas G. Fiffer on Facebook and Twitter.
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Tom, this story is beautiful, and Bradley, so is your response. Thank you both for sharing and for existing. Your sons as blessed that you’re their dad, Tom, that you still see the light too.
And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Hamlet Act 1, scene 5, 159–167
We are all connected. Everything is connected. There is so much about existence beyond our ‘senses’ that most of us never realize, let alone recognize. Kudos to you, and your amazingly perceptive boy. 🙂
WUNJO!