A friend texted to ask if I could babysit. I was not busy and felt happy to oblige. Because of the pandemic I was not a familiar face to this little boy, and his mother worried a little about his reaction. When I arrived she ran me through the paces of her child's routine, and his favorite activities.

 

"He loves to turn lights on and off."

 

She described no less than seven ways to engage him, including crayons, banana, a walk, and a basket of favorite toys. She was only going to be gone for three hours and he would likely sleep for the first two. 

 

I had brought a book of my own, because of the nap, and was grateful for the handy video device through which I could watch their son. My own years of mothering involved straining to hear across the house and pressing my head to the door. This little camera was much more dignified. It was my pleasure to see him peacefully sprawled across the bed, his curls like a halo on the pillow. 

 

Those stories about what he enjoys helped me to know him even before we were in the same room. Looking at his image on the small screen deepened my affection as well. I love his parents, and the realization that he is cherished by them spilled over into me such that I already cared. 

 

The book I was reading talked about our relationship with God, and what it means to have a picture of Him. Trying to relate to a faceless entity gives us nowhere to land. In learning about His qualities we can grow closer. 

 

I looked up from the page to see the sleeping child. I savored the simple joy of knowing what he looks like, and anticipated our time together when he woke up. 

 

Which he eventually did. I went upstairs and we read a few books. One was about musical instruments, and he grabbed my finger for reasons I did not understand. 
 

"Oh! If we push this button we will hear the music!" It was lovely to listen together. 

 

Another book was about a museum. 

 

"These are dinosaurs," I explained. I could not decipher his answer. 

 

"They are bones," I simplified. Then I heard it. 

 

"Pterodactyl," came his gentle voice. Clearly I had underestimated him. 

 

We spent the next half hour turning the lights on and off. I say half an hour, but time itself became superfluous. What charmed me was his ability to maneuver the switches on four different kinds of lamps. 

 

There was no need to hurry, or complain, evaluate or plan. It was my blessing to be with someone who lives in the moment.