"...see how they resemble one another?"

Spring has sprung like a better version of a tourist-based mousetrap. Of all the things I had forgotten about this city, one of the most important was the traffic that magically appears after April first.

It’s ok. I’ve used what I have. An award went out, the other day, to whichever of the four kids I had in my car to whoever could spot the most out of state license plates. They were all a little baffled when I explained to them where Ontario was.

In terms of life these days, I’ve hit a rut in reading written words and have turned to guilty pleasures like Glee and 30 Rock. They say it’s whatever helps you get through the day. Evidently I’m leaning on a strong satirical sense of humor. And a steady diet of Bloodbank and Part II by the Dirt and the Flood.

In other terms of life, I seem to have more and more people these days telling me that I must have something to be able to work with kids as much as I do. I don’t know if that’s true. All it takes is a simple understanding of how basic humans are and how, when bored, you will always get one of three responses out of them: “I’m hungry.” “Can we turn on the TV now?” or “No, I didn’t just do something incredibly destructive just to get your attention.”

You’d be surprised (or maybe not) how often the first two get shucked in favor of the final alternative. Or how many times a day I find milkcerealtoysclothesexpensivegadgets intentionally broken and purposefully strewn about the floor.

But that’s not the point.

Every single one of these children has a name. And the days that I find the most things broken on the ground are the days when they are (usually) seeking out the most love.

They all want to sit at an all-encompassing set of feet, listen to the stories and breathe deep. (For which, I am and always will be a shoddy-second alternative. Even when the time comes that the children are my own.)

It’s changed my mind about some things, this last few painstaking months of (quote:unquote) childcare. It’s changed my mind about where God is. He’s above us, somewhere, yes, but he’s in the dirt too. I feel like He smells like something salty and sweet. The way these kids smell after a long day outside. Or how the ocean smells in the early morning, before the sun separates its molecules between light rays.

It’s earthly in its beauty and heavenly in its visceral reality.

Who knew it was so close? Like a hair’s breadth from our fingertips.

For all the days (recently) I’ve felt like a teacher, I’m still the world’s best student—humbly bearing a cross that breaks down in its mirrored counterparts.

***

that secret that we know

that we don't know how to tell.

and I said, "I... I know it well."