I love leaving the house in winter.
Let me rephrase that: I love the idea of leaving the house in winter. In reality, it is a long, tedious process of potty and hats and boots and coats and zippers and mittens, all while one child or the other is talking loudly or removing a mitten or trying to play with the cat food – sometimes all at once. Usually, by the time we are ready to leave, I am ready for a rest.
Today, in the middle of our fifteen-minute leave-the-house routine, my son grew silent and still. He was captivated by a sunbeam, one hand outstretched, chubby toddler fingers moving slowly as he tried to grasp the particles of dust. And then, he leaned his head forward, light and warmth washing over his soft, round face. He closed his eyes and smiled for a moment before standing upright again. Then he leaned in again and basked some more.
I once had a dream that felt like that. I dreamt that I visited heaven. I spoke with a friend there and asked her a bunch of questions like “Do you miss life on earth?” Then I asked her if she’d seen Jesus. She pointed to a dream-building and told me I could go see him myself. The whole way over, I was playing out conversations in my head. I had no clue on the etiquette for initiating face-to-face conversations with the Son of God. The best I had was, “Hi Jesus. My name is Jaime. I’m visiting and my friend told me I could come in and say hello.” And suddenly I was there in a room with Jesus, and before I could say a word, he smiled and said, “Hi, Jaime.” I was bathed in this beam of intense, magnetic love flowing from him. I sat down at his feet and talked with him and basked in the warmth. It was greater than any feeling I had ever experienced. As we talked, more people came, and I remember feeling a bit of panic that this love-beam-bond would break. But it didn’t. I could tell they were equally connected, equally bonded, equally loved, but our connection didn’t lessen at all.
I had the dream over ten years ago, and it is still very vivid in my memory. I just forget it sometimes, in the tedium of hats and coats and mittens.
My son gets it though. It’s about leaning into the light.