One recent weekend, Michael went to a birthday party for a fellow four-year-old, one of the denizens of Ms K’s home daycare. It was at a local “jumping around like jackalopes” venue called “Pump It Up.” Michael had never been to such an elaborate and expansive indoor play facility, whose sole purpose is to allow kids to climb, jump, slide, bounce and carom around to their little heart’s content.
Michael was so excited. He ran from one bouncy inflatable to the next, following the lead of several of the other boys who were doing the same thing. Off of one, run across the mat to the next, climb up and bounce around for eighteen or nineteen seconds, jump off and repeat.
After nearly an hour of this frenzied activity, the party crew called us all into the cake & pizza room for the remainder of the visit. Because “bouncing and little tummies don’t mix,” once we went into the eating area, we wouldn’t be bouncing any more.
Before he sat down, Michael came to me and told me he had to go potty, so we excused ourselves and found the restroom down the hall.
As we’re washing his hands, he asked “Then can I go back and play?”
“No, Michael. We’re done with the bouncing. Now it’s time for cake & presents,” I told him.
“But I want to go play,” he said, somewhat sad but still excited about cake and present time.
He wanted play time to keep going. He wanted another never-ending birthday.
It was right then that I caught that little taste of heaven. Kids, especially the little ones, hold this sense within their hearts by design.
It’s in that feeling that the joy of total freedom and fun has just begun, and it stretches out in front of you on into eternity. It’s the feeling of the first fresh days of summertime, of Saturday morning, of endless bliss and the pure joy of a perfect moment. It’s like time has no meaning. There’s the now, and there’s nothing else aside from it.
It’s the feeling that somehow you lose as you get older, when the sense of time and urgency take root. When order and structure become our silent despot, compelling us to our tasks: laboring, eating, sleeping, dealing with inevitable adversities. And on those rare occasions in which we take rest, it’s often seasoned liberally with the guilt that we should be doing something productive. Time marches inexorably forward, dragging us along with it, knowing that eventually we’ll stop fighting and will join in lock step.
It’s the thing that this world cannot truly offer, as much as we labor to make it so.
But I believe it is exactly what God does offer, as He says in Revelation 21, verse 4: “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” We will live with our creator, glorifying Him and enjoying Him forever.
I believe God’s kingdom will be just that way. It will be that single, crisp moment of pure joy you feel when playtime has just begun… only there will be no end of it.
Makes me want to rush getting there. But I so can’t do that, to much to do here right now. Too much time constraint and responsibility. Sounds like Michael and I share the same dilemma.
Tom, what a beautiful post. I myself have thought more about that elusive feeling of the “pure joy of the perfect moment” ever since my daughter was born. For whatever reason, I have never been able to come up with the words to describe it, nor have I been able to come up with a positive conclusion that would make me feel better about losing it.
This post struck a nerve with me. Really…REALLY well written. Well done man.