We recently drove into the city of Chicago to see Ethan. He and his mom and dad had recently returned from a camping trip and he needed to tell us all the stories and show us some of his treasures.
Chicago holds a special place in our hearts. It is where we lived right after Bill finished his undergrad work in Arkansas; where he had his first “real” job.
Chicago is the city where both our girls were born and we explored many of its free and nearly free delights when they were small children.
Chicago is the place where our faith journey made a hard left turn, where we made close friends who not only shared our struggling place in life, but our faith stance, and, in the late 60s, our socio/political outlook.
Plus, Chicago has always had many, MANY wonderful places to eat.
So we made the familiar trek down the interstate and into the heart of the city. There is an energy that begins to grip people as they enter the city. There is a sense of purpose, of drive, sometimes even franticness. There is a sense of life-in-the-moment, almost as if when you pause to take a breath, you will miss that moment.
But there is also a darkness. As we drive down Irving Park Drive we become conscious of the empty buildings, of neighborhoods struggling not to fall further into decay. We are more conscious of potential crime just beyond the sidewalks. All of that is present in smaller cities and towns as well, but when it rolls on for block after block, you are more aware of that darker presence.
By the time we turn off Irving Park Drive, and get to Becki and John’s house, just a couple of blocks away, I am feeling a bit oppressed.
On this particular day, as we drove up to their house, we could hear Ethan through the closed windows of the car, “They are here! Grandma and Grandpa are here!”
He burst through the front door with John just a few steps behind.
Grandpa was out of the car first and Ethan grabbed his free hand and pulled him toward the flower beds that lie between the sidewalk and the curbing.
Without taking a breath, Ethan began to recite to Grandpa the names of the various plants and exclaiming over the ones that had flowered since he had last checked, just a few hours earlier. Then Ethan spied a weed.
He bent at the waist and, as his mother had taught him, he grasped the offending weed down at the ground and pulled it from the soil. Then he saw another, and another.
Soon Grandpa was trailing after the 5 year old gardener carrying a plastic bag to receive all the weeds Ethan could find. It was nearly half full before Ethan stood to survey his work and we all entered the house.
We traipsed up the stairs to Ethan’s room so he could show us some of his treasures that he had hidden away in the corners of the room. More importantly he had to show us the several books he had acquired in the state park gift shop where they had camped, and the several books he had borrowed from the library. As usual these books were field guides to plants, trees, animals etc. We weren’t done hearing all the stories, but it was time for lunch.
The plan had been that Bill and I would take Ethan out for lunch and entertain him somewhere while John got some work done.
Ethan decided he did not want to go out for lunch, but wanted a PBJ sandwich. John found a pizza for us three adults (Becki was at work) and we enjoyed more lively conversation.
At five, Ethan no longer takes a nap every day. Some days he needs an adult to tell him a nap is a good thing. But occasionally he decides on his own. This day he decided that he needed a nap. He also decided that Grandpa should sleep in his room and Grandma should sleep in the guest room that shares a common wall with his bedroom. That way, when he was ready to get up, “I can just knock on the wall and you will know it is time to get up.” And so we went to our appointed places.
Bill was greatly amused that while he “napped” in his chair, Ethan’s head kept popping up over the side of his bunk bed to peer at Grandpa to see if he was asleep. As you would guess, neither of them slept, but I, in the guest room, actually dozed a bit before I heard the knock on the wall.
By then John was very busy fielding phone calls from several clients and trying to get some work done in his office area so Bill and I reverted to a modified version of our original plan and we suggested that we three go check the flowers in the back yard. Ethan whopped with joy at the idea and led us on a charge down the stairs and out the back door.
Bill sank onto one of the comfortable chairs under the gazebo tent armed with his camera while, this time, Grandma followed the gardener around the perimeter of the yard examining the blooming and about-to-be blooming flowers, checking the status of the ripening strawberries and the growth of the pea vines.
Ethan kept commenting on the number of flowers that needed to be dead-headed until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He enlisted Grandma’s help to retrieve a sharp pair of garden scissors and began expertly snipping the spent flowers around the yard.
There was an empty flower pot sitting near the patio table and soon it was nearly filled with spent flowers and beginning seed pods. They were transformed into “exotic spices” to flavor “the soup” Ethan was making as he continued to dead head the flower beds.
Bill and I sat, thoroughly enjoying our grandson’s ability to manicure the flower beds; he has been well taught by his mother. We drank in the beauty, and the peace, of this oasis in the midst of the city.
Birds chirped from every leafy branch, an occasional bee buzzed the flowers looking for nectar. A small fountain burbled against the garage wall. Neighbors walked by and greeted Ethan, admiring his work on the flowers; only the uninitiated were amazed at his ability to know what to snip and what to leave alone.
In the distant background you could hear the steady growl of the traffic on Irving Park. You were vaguely aware of the city out there, but in this lovely haven that Becki, with Ethan’s and John’s help, has created, it disappeared and was replaced with a place of peace and calm and light.
Bill’s shutter clicked, Ethan’s happy voice rose and fell, and I drank in the beauty of God’s bit of creation - a place of peace in the midst of the pressure and decay and self-centeredness that we seem to think is normal life.
Many of us try to create such places in our lives – places of retreat and peace. Once in a while we even find a person who is such a place, in whose presence we find that same sense of peace and contentment.
I came home from the city more resolved to try harder to be that kind of person for others. I am enjoying my own place of retreat more and hope that not only our home, but also our presence will be a light in people’s lives.
