“Can I show you this real quick?”
My oldest son held out the old phone we gave him for his creative projects and a bit of technology time for which he has to complete a number of things before it’s earned. I was putting the last touches on dinner—some baked chicken, some roasted beets and zucchini, and slices of watermelon for dessert. I was moments away from calling in the rest of my sons, from hearing them all complain about how gross dinner looks, from sitting down and trying to remain present.
I’d had a lot on my mind lately. My first traditionally published book had just gone to press, I was waiting to hear back about a potential deal on a second one, and a third manuscript was not quite there yet, giving me fits and starts, making me wonder if it might not just be easier to give up on it.
This summer has felt like a constant battle to remain present.
So I watched the video, impressed by how meticulously my son arranged his LEGO mini figures and took their pictures and set the scene for a story.
“You put a lot of work into that,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said.
“How long did it take you?”
“An hour.”
An hour for five seconds of captured video. He is more patient that I’d ever known him to be. And, like it always does when faced with a moment of brilliance from my children, my heart looked up, straightened from its wilting posture, squared its shoulders, and said, Life is grand, isn’t it?
Until it was time to do after-dinner chores and the same son who spent an hour arranging tiny LEGO pieces and taking pictures could not be bothered to spend fifteen minutes rinsing and stacking dishes into the dishwasher.
The things we love are much easier to spend time doing than the things we loathe.
