Certain vocations, like that of raising children, offer a perfect setting for living a contemplative life. They provide a desert for reflection, a real monastery.
--Ronald Rolheiser
Certain spiritual writers like to make this comparison: taking care of young children provides a desert for reflection, a real monastery. When they are your children, and you hear this pious observation, sometimes you want to throw up your hands. How in the world can young children leave us any time for reflection? They're always bombarding us with requests. Can I have a drink of water? I want more juice! Can we go to the park? Can we watch a DVD? Let me play with blocks? Is it lunchtime yet? Can so-and-so come over to play? Besides requests, there are objections and complaints. I don't need to take a nap! No, I'm not hungry! I don't want to take a bath! It's not fair! He took my toys! She's mean! She messed up my puzzle! Are we there yet? We never get to do anything! These are just a few samples of the constant barrage from children old enough to talk, to whine, to make their wishes known.
Yet I am sure the spiritual teachers who make this comparison are right. The best training ground for the spiritual life is not on smooth but rocky ground. When we want to grow in virtue, we do better in tough situations. It is easy to seem patient when nothing much is happening to challenge us. The real test of patience comes when any sane person would fly off the handle. Taking care of children is a perfect Los Alamos-style proving ground....
Usually, we think of contemplation as taking place in solitude and silence. But many great spiritual teachers, Ignatius Loyola for one, say otherwise. They tell us to be contemplative in action. Contemplation is not entirely a function of where we are. No, contemplation is an inward disposition of the heart, intentionally quieting ourselves, turning to God whenever and wherever we can. To care for young children may prompt us to be glad for what has been given us. In the company of children we return to simplicity and discover our childlike hearts. When we care for young children, we learn attentiveness. Also, children remind us to laugh and play in ways that please God. Contemplation is about peacefulness, shalom. The monastery of childhood can encourage that peace in more ways than one.
One characteristic of children's lives is their regularity. The same is true of monasteries! Things happen in children's lives at predictable times: mealtime, nap time, bath time, story time, outdoor play. Dependable schedules give us hints of an inwardly peaceful universe, where order and harmony reign. Such pleasing regularity is also a clue to prayer. Today some of us are reviving the custom of fixed-hour prayer—the habit of prayer at certain times of day. That rhythm is consoling. Prayer is not just a duty to God but a reminder of God's abiding presence.
Jesus taught us about children and what we may learn from them. At his time in history, when children were often shunted aside, even undervalued, Jesus brought children to center stage. "Let the little children come to me," he said, "and do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs." Jesus also explains, "Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."
--Ronald Rolheiser
Certain spiritual writers like to make this comparison: taking care of young children provides a desert for reflection, a real monastery. When they are your children, and you hear this pious observation, sometimes you want to throw up your hands. How in the world can young children leave us any time for reflection? They're always bombarding us with requests. Can I have a drink of water? I want more juice! Can we go to the park? Can we watch a DVD? Let me play with blocks? Is it lunchtime yet? Can so-and-so come over to play? Besides requests, there are objections and complaints. I don't need to take a nap! No, I'm not hungry! I don't want to take a bath! It's not fair! He took my toys! She's mean! She messed up my puzzle! Are we there yet? We never get to do anything! These are just a few samples of the constant barrage from children old enough to talk, to whine, to make their wishes known.
Yet I am sure the spiritual teachers who make this comparison are right. The best training ground for the spiritual life is not on smooth but rocky ground. When we want to grow in virtue, we do better in tough situations. It is easy to seem patient when nothing much is happening to challenge us. The real test of patience comes when any sane person would fly off the handle. Taking care of children is a perfect Los Alamos-style proving ground....
Usually, we think of contemplation as taking place in solitude and silence. But many great spiritual teachers, Ignatius Loyola for one, say otherwise. They tell us to be contemplative in action. Contemplation is not entirely a function of where we are. No, contemplation is an inward disposition of the heart, intentionally quieting ourselves, turning to God whenever and wherever we can. To care for young children may prompt us to be glad for what has been given us. In the company of children we return to simplicity and discover our childlike hearts. When we care for young children, we learn attentiveness. Also, children remind us to laugh and play in ways that please God. Contemplation is about peacefulness, shalom. The monastery of childhood can encourage that peace in more ways than one.
One characteristic of children's lives is their regularity. The same is true of monasteries! Things happen in children's lives at predictable times: mealtime, nap time, bath time, story time, outdoor play. Dependable schedules give us hints of an inwardly peaceful universe, where order and harmony reign. Such pleasing regularity is also a clue to prayer. Today some of us are reviving the custom of fixed-hour prayer—the habit of prayer at certain times of day. That rhythm is consoling. Prayer is not just a duty to God but a reminder of God's abiding presence.
Jesus taught us about children and what we may learn from them. At his time in history, when children were often shunted aside, even undervalued, Jesus brought children to center stage. "Let the little children come to me," he said, "and do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs." Jesus also explains, "Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."
Imagine suggesting that we could learn from children! Jesus, as usual, challenged our preconceptions, our ways of being in charge. Jesus did not intend to give us a lecture on child care. Instead, he meant to encourage simplicity of heart.
Excerpted from: Small Surrenders: A Lenten Journey by Emilie Griffin
Excerpted from: Small Surrenders: A Lenten Journey by Emilie Griffin
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