We were on the very top row, but we were in the arena! My wife had purchased tickets for a show that I have always wanted to go see, and she and I sat together, packed in with about 10,000 of our closest friends. Traffic was bad, and people had a tough time getting in, so they started the show a little late. About five minutes after the show started, A man and his little boy, who appeared to be 4 or 5 years old, made their way up to the seats next to me.
I distinctly remember thinking “wow, this show may be a little loud for him, but I guess we will see.” They had been in their seats for no more than about five minutes when the little boy leaned into his dad’s ear and whispered something. Immediately, they got up and started the process of heading out. In the cheap seats, when one person wants to get out, everybody has to get up to accommodate him. So, the whole row, seeming to somehow just know what was going on, stood up so that the little man and his dad could make their way back out. On the way by me he yells “I’m so sorry. My son has to go to the restroom. I’m so sorry.” We all smiled a little bit, and quickly went back to enjoying the show.
It was almost the first intermission when the boy and his dad came back. As they did so, I noticed two bottled waters in dad’s hand. The little guy had both hands firmly holding on to a cinnamon pretzel, and he grinned from ear to ear as he looked longingly at his new snack. They sat down and ate for a minute. I heard the little boy say to his dad, “Dad, this is so loud!” “Dad, when will it be over?” “Dad, do you like pretzels?” “Dad, how long do you think we will take to get to the car?” “Dad, how high up do you think we are?”
Dad’s answers were all pretty similar, and sounded something like “We need to watch the show, son!” He was patient with him, but it was clear that he was a little frustrated by his little boy’s general lack of awareness of the gravity of the musical moment. They made it to the second intermission when the boy declared his need again to use the restroom. Dad stands up, and so the row again stands. On his way by, he apologizes to everyone again, over and over expressing his regret over the inconvenience he was causing the other show-goers. At that moment, I heard him look at his son and say “C’mon bud, we have to hurry or we will miss it!”
As I’m learning more and more about being a dad, I’m learning that what separates children from adults is their definition of the word “it.” Seems like a simple word, doesn’t it? One would assume that we all just defined “it” the same way. But not so. You see, for dad, “it” was the concert, the show, the lasers and explosions and fire and music. You know, the stuff you pay for! For the boy however, “it” was something different. “It” was sitting so high you could almost touch the sealing. “It” was climbing every step without touching the little tape stripe at the end, just because it was fun.” “It” was being up past bedtime and sitting in the dark. “It” was a bottled water and a cinnamon pretzel. “It” was spending the evening with your dad. “It” was two trips to the bathroom, because that meant you got to walk with your dad. No, “it” meant something totally different to the boy than it did the dad.
I think that is often the case with us, isn’t it? We look at cost of the pretzel, the kid sees the pretzel. We look at this world and see problems, and obstacles, and inconveniences, and kids look at it with wonder and amazement, stopping to examine cracks in the sidewalk and flowers in ditches. We lament how slow kids move, how little they appreciate, and how much they cost, and then we accuse them of being the ones that miss “it.” But the more I watch my own son, the more I realize that he may not be the one who is missing it.
There were five minutes or so left in the show when the dad came back, little boy in tow, to sit down. As it ended, he said, “Aww man, we missed it. Oh well!” We made our ways back to the car, and I reflected on the great time I had with my wife. Afterwards, we had sushi (well, I did; my wife hates sushi) and talked about the year, about ministry, about the future, and about parenting. It occurred to me how often, even in that conversation, I was tempted to think past the moment, to all the other things that vie for my affections and attention. It was a great night, one in which I learned by watching a little boy and his dad how very often I miss “it.”
God has given us the same number of minutes in each day until our minutes are up. We are supposed to squeeze the life out of each one, enjoying little things and looking for the ways He has given us to enjoy His presence. He wants us to enjoy the simple pleasures, the day to day routine, the little details that we will miss if we spend all our life huffing and puffing around, lamenting how busy life is and how much people expect of us. We need reminders of His grace, and those reminders abound all around us. Watch a sunrise. Consider a lily, Be still.
And don’t miss “it.” We just don’t know how many “its” we may have.
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