"Remember then that there is only one important time, and that time is now. The most important one is always the one you are with. And the most important thing is to do good for the one who is standing at your side. For these, my dear boy, are the answers to what is most important in this world." -from Jon J. Muth's The Three Questions based on a story by Leo Tolstoy
The sun, orange and magnificent, has begun its descent, drawing to a close another day, a day like no other, a day which will never happen again. Behind me stands my husband, 3x5 flashcards clutched between his fingers, a dot poked into one, arms spread wide, an attempt to catch sight of the cosmological phenomena of Venus crossing between Earth and the sun. I cup my hands over the small circle of the sun's projection onto the stained card hastily grabbed off the kitchen counter. There is nothing.
I see Russell running across the green expanse of the open field. His five-year-old legs pump furiously, madly, carelessly; his face is flushed and exuberant in the innocent joy of pure living. I grasp his heaving body into my arms and impulsively plant a kiss onto his ruddy cheeks.
Will I race him to the goal post, my seven-year-olds queries. Frankly I want to say no and offer up lame excuses of why I am unable to participate in this venture. "My belly is full of pizza," I half mumble and see the spark of hope in his eyes begin to extinguish and alter into disappointment. I fling off my sandals and issue a challenge: I will beat him I proclaim and he guffaws at my boldness. We run neck and neck to the appointed line of finish, the blood pulsing heartily throughout my body, the breaths coming quick. I am wholly present, running for no particular reason, running with abandon with my eldest son. His laugh is infectious. Thomas wins, of course, and is triumphant. At least I made it look close.
We discover a sizeable, white Pieta hidden in the midst of pine trees. We are, after all, trespassing on Catholic property, pretty confident our dear neighbors won't mind. Mary holds her Son, whose body is truly broken, fingers and toes missing, an empty soda can deposited as a token. I pick it up and jam it into my pocket. It protrudes from my belly like a tumor. "Do not climb on their bodies, " we instruct the children who are poking and prodding Mother and Child. "Ding Dong," Russell cannot help but poke the belly button of his Savior.
I walk towards the bicycles splayed on the periphery of the field holding their tiny hands, Elliot and Lucia, my youngest children. "Why did Jesus die?" my son asks. Quickly, too quickly perhaps, the words gush from my mouth, "Because He loves us." True, of course, but what does that mean to a five-year-old boy? "When will we die?" he follows up. "Oh, my love, hopefully you will grow and live to be an old man before you die." "Like Grandpa?" "Yes, like Grandpa. But remember, little one, Christ is Risen and death has been defeated."
The sun has set as six tiny legs pedal their squeaky wheels toward home. The miniscule black dot of the planet christened for the goddess of love
and beauty has evaded us on this Tuesday evening, slipping through our fingers, veiling herself
from limited human vision for another hundred years. It is sobering, the knowledge that I will be dead, long dead, when Venus transits again. We are insignificant, but God in His mystery became Man so that we might become partakers of the divine. Christ is in our midst. He is and ever shall be.
I know. I know, you know. Honestly you do. Still...Elliot is in the Star Wars shirt; Russell in the soccer shirt. Did you get it right?
