The innocence, the trust, with these words I see a child.
I sat in the early morning hours watching my six year old Granddaughter’s hockey practice. Watched as the players gathered around their coaches like trusting little baby birds.
They pointed at their water bottles, the hockey gloves too cumbersome to grab the plastic bottles, the finger dexterity not there as yet to unscrew the tops loose themselves; instead they stood, heads tilted back, their faces lifted, partially hidden behind their protective helmet grill, open and trusting they asked and were received. Slowly the coaches went down the line, offering the Eucharist of hockey as they gently pour tiny swallows of water into each opened mouth before them.
The kids know Mom and Dad are nearby in the stands, there are no worries thickening the air. The coaches offer wise words and skate like pros; the children emit naturally an openness that says: You will protect me. You will not hurt me.
The trust is heart wrenching in its stripped bare innocence.
When searching for the magic that is hidden in the folds of everyday life, this is what your eyes should seek, this is what your heart should wish to recognize once again. Our purity of soul becomes pressed thin with the weight and responsibilities of our passing years; it’s an honour to be reminded once again of its presence.