EQ Reflection: Sheltering Arms

Last week I was holding Max as he fell asleep, and I suddenly
remembered when my father used to tuck me in at night and the
way he'd drum his fingers on the side of my bed.

My parents were divorced, and my mother created an obligatory
weekly visit to my dad's. I was surprised that nearly every week,
he lay down next to me for a few minutes at bedtime. Perhaps it
was part of my mom's list of instructions.

At the time, I thought the "finger drumming" was just a cool sound
-- I remember that I got him to show me how he made it, tapping
each finger in a rapid cascade. I remember practicing the technique,
and proudly showing him that I could do his trick.

Now in hindsight, it takes on a whole new meaning and a mystery.
Given a man almost obsessed with his work and rather uncomfortable
with children, it's no surprise that he would be bored by the bedtime
ritual -- and pass the time twiddling his fingers. Still, I experienced
a moment of shock as I sat holding my boy and remembered my dad's
impatience.

The mystery is that I wonder if he kept doing it because he knew I
liked the sound -- or if he just was impatient nearly all the time.
I'm not sure I want to know. The lesson I'll take is to give myself
in these moments with Max -- to focus on him not work, to listen
to his heartbeat not the chattering inner voice of my unending "to
do" list.

Holding Max, I was reveling in simple trust and love, the blissful
perfection of holding a child -- of holding my son. Listening to his
breathing, I found my breath matching his, and his glowing
two-and-a-half-year-old warmth turned me lethargic and content.

I found myself entranced watching his tiny fingers. He goes to
sleep by rubbing a shred of his sheepskin fleece against his nose,
and he rolls the little piece of fuzz delicately over and over to
tickle himself. Perhaps it was his rolling fingers that reminded
me of my dad's.

Remembering, I felt sad and adrift. I thought about the lost dream
of safety, and how somehow my whole life has been a search to find
the shelter of loving arms, and to teach people to create that safety
for others. Then, in the blink of an eye, I began watching Max
again and giving him my attention. I began to know that by being
his shelter, I am building one for myself as well.

I suspect this is a universal quest -- that in our heart of hearts,
all of us long for a sheltering embrace. Acceptance, safety, and
appreciation blended into the consummate metaphor of parental love.

As an adult, can you even imagine being so accepted -- so wrapped
in care no matter what you'd done or said -- given love freely and
abundantly just because you're you? Can you imagine being totally
accepted -- perfect in your foibles, enriched by your follies,
treasured for your unique blemishes?

And what happens when we learn to give that shelter to others?
What will happen in your home, in your workplace, in your
community, when people are more freely willing and able to give
this shelter to one another? It's hard to imagine it spreading outside
the house -- but what if -- just for a moment -- what if people
actually gave this gift of acceptance in the neighborhood? In the
grocery store line? At the library? At work?

We'd have unstoppable drive and commitment. We'd take risks to be
honest and to genuinely care, to follow our convictions not our fears.
We'd leap into challenge knowing there's a permanent safety net --
not a parti-colored parachute. The result is beyond words -- it
would be like a tsunami liberating the very best of what humans
can be.

So if we're truly committed to bringing out that essential excellence
in ourselves and others -- that key to our unique human capacity --
perhaps the only gift that matters is emotional. That feeling of total
acceptance and appreciation. The gift of glowing warmth from strong
sheltering arms -- there whenever we want, just because we need them.

May you new year be filled with appreciation and wonder -- it is
but a eye blink away.
- Josh

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This is an EQ Reflection from http://www.6seconds.org
©2003 Joshua Freedman
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