The Window of Cheer

You’ve gotta see my front window. We’ve been in this cool 1970s “split level” for three months now. Of its many funky features is the giant trapezoid shaped window in our living room. Pedestrians, neighbors, and drivers can’t miss the enormous glass panes across the top level of our home. When the living room is illuminated at night you can peer into our world. Along with the trapezoid shaped garage doors, these windows negate the need for us to pass out our address. When we give directions, we simply give the street number and a “look for the trapezoids…” It’s a can’t miss.

Though we frequently question the architect’s grey matter (read: “What were you thinking?”), the trapezoid window has quickly become meaningful. Without fail, if a young child in our house is awake and someone is heard starting up a car outside or pulling into the driveway, two little bodies race for the window to greet or send-off parents or visitors.

There is joy. No – elation is more like it. What is it about that window? Is it a window to the outside world, metaphorically speaking? (Okay, that was corny.) Why does a child seemingly consumed with his Buzz Lightyear doll just moments ago, drop everything to see faces outside that window?

But it has become not just their joy. It is now my joy. To them, I am a rock star! Not always of course. I’m still one of the two disciplinarians in the house. But they race across the wood floor (pitter-patter) to say hi. They hug with all their might. And of course, they race to the window.

In just a few years those faces won’t be glued to that window. They’ll have other things more stimulating to consume them. But I’m gonna take it and drink it in for now. Just this morning one was in diapers and the other in her favorite squirrel outfit. Both with hair reaching to the sky indicating a good night of sleep. They’re the same height. Their little bodies crowded next to each other hoping against all hope that I would see them as I pulled out of the driveway. Yearning to make eye contact, acknowledge them, and wave. When our eyes met they jumped up and down and waved their arms with unbridled enthusiasm. Had I replicated their exuberance, I would’ve pulled a shoulder muscle.

Thank you, God, for little kids! Give me their energy, joy, passion, and faith. And help me to hold on to these days forever.