While I was growing up, precious moments with my dad were sometimes hard to come by. Something always seemed to be going on, which severely limited my chances of talking or connecting with him. As I grew up, I figured out that if I actually wanted a good amount of Dad’s attention, I had to join him in whatever he felt needed to be done. Sometimes that meant that I rode in the buddy seat of the tractor or combine. Sometimes that meant that we cleaned a culvert or repaired a piece of field tile. Sometimes that meant that we walked beans or repaired something on one of our pieces of equipment. Most of the time, we worked on something together so that we could have the conversation. It was that connection though, the listening and the talking, the effort and the enthusiasm, the honesty and the humility, that made those moments sacred, even though there were some times that I really didn’t want to work anymore.
Now that I have two kids of my own, I enjoy these same sacred moments of connection, a hug or kiss or handhold or walk or run or swim or some other experience. It doesn’t matter what we are doing, even if we are just sitting eating a snack. These moments are sacred, pregnant with the possibilities of transformation and new life. To some, these times might look like a waste as my kids and I wander around town with the stroller or ride around aimlessly with our bike and trailer. Maybe we air up a tire only to let the air out again or build a block tower to tear it down in the very next moment. Still other times we pick up bolts and nuts and screws and try to make sense of how these things might function in the world that we know. No matter what is happening or how we are spending our time, these moments are sacred because they are moments that we are sharing together. Can you describe the last sacred moment that you had: who you were with, what happened, and what made you realize that that moment was sacred?
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