Nobody in the world loves the moon more than Frankie. While we're driving, he will randomly exclaim, "Guys, I found the moon!" When night falls, he runs outside to find the moon. He loves the moon. The moon is always there for him. Even when it is cloudy, he understands the moon is there. His faith in the moon is a maturity that surpasses most.
The harvest lunar eclipse beckoned us outside on a warm September night. Accompanied by cool beverages and the sound of crickets, we huddled together on the front porch and watched the moon creep over the trees. The excitement of an three year old already up past his bedtime was contagious. Anticipation, combined with a lifelong infatuation for lunarious spheres, skyrocketed his usually groggy energy for the nine o'clock hour. Bouncing between my lap, the chair, the steps, and the walkway, he exuded enthusiasm as the "big one" shown above the trees.
After ten minutes or so, we scurried back inside to call it a night. After arguing that Gurgah would not "sleep on the carpet" in his bedroom, I agreed to let him sleep in my room. We watched half of an episode of VeggieTales on my phone and laid in quiet admiration of the moon shining brightly through the curtain. He tossed and turned and squirmed all over the bed trying to get the perfect spot. He grew impatient, and said, "I cannot see Fedder!" A few questions later, I learned he had named the moon Feather. A little unconventional, but I loved it. We said our bedtime prayers where we prayed for everyone he's ever met, but especially Bob and Larry, since they were the ones who had sang him about conquering monsters (an idea that is ever present in our house.) After a few moments, I set him up at the foot of the bed, right in front of the window. There, he laid motionless until the heavy breathing of deep slumber filled the room.
I relaxed and continued to stare at the moon, wondering how I could channel Frankie's wonderment. At 25, I'm cynical and realistic. Painfully so. I'm so in tune with my discernment, I often forget about the benefit of the doubt. I'm obnoxiously boring. And then here is this three year old who gets so much joy from a circle in the sky. A circle he knows absolutely nothing about except that it is in the sky, and it's always there, even when he cannot see it. At his age, everything is curious. Everything is new and exciting. Learning is fun, and you don't even know you're learning! The excitement from mundane things adults don't even think twice about can stop you in your tracks. (For example, the light in the refrigerator is not just there for midnight snacking. A three year old reminded me of this.)
So what did this night teach me? I learned the moon really is a spherical mystery that brings feelings of security and joy. I learned that sometimes the best conversations can happen while staring at the moon. I learned lot of inspiration can come from watching a three year old sleep peacefully after an evening of staring at the night sky. And I learned that I have a lot of learning left to do. I have a lot to surrender and a lot of admiration to lavish upon Him before I write something with even a twinge of expertise.
Frankie loves the moon. Gurgah loves Frankie. Frankie teaches Gurgah to love the moon. Life is never the same.
