This summer I’ve been reading a lot about practices—the
practice of writing, the practice of yoga, the practice of running. Because I want to someday write a book and be
able to touch my toes without bending my knees and to be able to run Leg #2 of
the Klondike Road Relay (5.6 miles almost completely uphill) this September
without dying. I like this concept of
practice. All of the books I’ve read—and
I’ve probably spent more time reading than actually practicing—say the same
thing:
- “Don’t worry about perfection.”
- “You can’t be perfect the first time.”
- “Have fun with it.”
- “Remember—all you need to do is show-up. Be present. Try.”
This past week and a half I’ve been in a little resort town
outside of Austin, Texas called Canyon Lake—completing a journey I began three
years ago to become a fully formed catechist of the Catechesis of the Good
Shepherd. And now, coming home on an
airplane, I do realize how silly that sentence sounds. Three hundred hours of training, over a
hundred album pages, and three years being with children in the Atrium does not
a fully formed catechist make. Because
in this life we are never complete. The
journey continues. This work of
living—running, writing, trying to touch my toes—is never over. So we never have reason to be bored. That’s the Good News, right?
On my trip I only ran twice (don’t tell my Klondike team) at
a slow crawl for 20 minutes each time before collapsing in a sweat puddle courtesy
of the 7am Texas heat. I practiced yoga
once on the laminate flooring of my cottage before I realized my hamstrings
might be stretching in the low-lunge position but my knee pressed into the
plastic wood wasn’t thanking me. And
writing didn’t happen much either. Most
days I came home too exhausted from lectures and presentations and relentless
note-taking to even think about picking up a pen or opening my laptop.
Coming home now I’m excited to implement the writing and
running and downward-facing dogging into an ideal routine. But mostly I’m looking forward to the long
days of summer I’ve been gifted to spend with the four smiling faces waiting
for me outside of security.
When I think of practice I also think of parenting. You don’t have to be perfect—you just have to
be present. You don’t need to have all
the answers—but welcome the questions.
Forget about how educational the activities you have in your mind are
and get caught up in the Superman book you’re reading to your five year-old for
the 50th time. Leave the
dishes in the sink to watch your kids bounce on a trampoline. Sit and listen to an impromptu piano concert
without worrying about the laundry or the bills.
I want to continue this practice of life with the freedom of
one who trusts the Creator of all good gifts.
After all, when we give a gift isn’t the first response we’re looking for
joy? Sure, a “thank you,” is nice—but
shining eyes and a big grin are completely acceptable.
I want my eyes to shine as I embrace the practice of
parenting.
They do shine, Katy!
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