The little girl Christina Taylor Green who was killed in the Arizona Shootings last weekend was born on  September 11th, 2001. Along with other babies born on that day, she was featured in a book called “Faces of Hope.”  In it we see a photo of her, with, on either side, simple wishes for a child’s life. She expresses the wish,  “I hope you jump in rain puddles.”It is a lovely thought, made all the more poignant by the tragic nature of her passing.

This probably would not be my normal response when coming across a puddle on the path. “Jump in, splash around“? My sensible mind would protest: “It would ruin my shoes. People will be watching. I would look daft”. We have a sense of  wonder and adventure in us as children before we cover it over as we “mature” and divide ourselves into what is seen and what we keep to ourselves. Somewhere along the way to adulthood we learn to hide ourselves, to appear reasonable, not spontaneous, to prefer order and routine to surprise. We become preoccupied the day-to-day problems of our lives and set out in the morning with a set of implicit or explicit goals. When the unexpected happens, like snow or rain puddles, it is seen as an inconvenience or a detour.  We get so goal-orientated, as if everything has to be won, that we do not see the fun that can be had in simply playing the game. Things can become difficulties or obstacles and not opportunities for play and spontaneity. We even can treat our recreation or sport as something to be “done”, serving some other aim.  It is as if being surprised or spontaneous is dangerous or makes us weak. We mask our sense of play out of fear of being judged as immature or too emotional.

Keeping the heart open with the eyes of a child is the key:  Enlarging our vision of all the  things that happen in the day- for surprise and for wonder –  even  the things we see a thousand times. And then giving voice to that sense of astonishment. To jump into the things that life brings, without holding back.  To be open to all, even that which we would prefer to avoid. The gospel tells us that the kingdom of heaven – the fulness of life –  belongs to those who welcome it like children. The shortness of little Christina’s life reminds me not to let life pass me by, to let go of those things which block my heart, to see things and people as if for the first time, to stop dwelling in the hurts of the past or the schemes of the future and to see wonder now.

We inhabit ourselves without valuing ourselves, unable to see that here, now, this very moment is sacred; but once it’s gone – its value is incontestable.

Joyce Carol Oates