Smile
A Reese Piece from Robert…
As a small child Reese smiled with her whole body.
Often I didn’t need to see her face to know she was filled with joy. Her hands would pivot up and down, her legs would swing and kick. Her whole being was caught up. She’d screech or cry “ooohhhhh!” and this would sound completely different than when she was in pain or was enraged.
Her whole body was overwhelmed by her happiness. It would flow through her like electricity. Sometimes it seemed her hair would get curlier than normal.
Even better yet, Reese wasn’t self-conscious about it. She simply didn’t restrain the physical wave of joy and was happy for anyone around to see it and maybe get caught up in it too. She’d let it flow, and she didn’t unnaturally try to dam it up within her or tamp it down for our civilized consumption.
Of course Reese also frowned with her whole body. No denying that. But right now I want to focus on the smile.
My parents tell me that I too did this long ago. As a boy about Reese’s age, on Christmas morning I’d sit in front of the Tree awaiting my chance to open my first present. My parents tell me my backside would literally bounce up and down in anticipation, in happiness, and – if I’m honest – perhaps a little greed thrown in for good measure.
I didn’t do as much of that as I got older. I tend to call that shift “maturity”, but, I’m not sure that the shift should always be given such a respectable label. Perhaps it would be better to call that change “domestication” or “taming” or something even less positive.
I’ve been thinking about all of this because of the words of Jesus. You’ve probably heard them before. I’ll paraphrase: Love God with your whole self – your mind, your body, your strength, your everything you have and are. And love your neighbor as yourself.
Many parts of Christian life come to mind as an illustration here, and worship is one. Many of us love God well with our minds, but not so well with our bodies. We feel odd if we start to tap our toes during the music of a Sunday service of worship. We hold back from singing out with gusto, even if we well-know and well-love the words to the hymn.
Others of us love God well with our emotions, but we don’t want to think about our faith, to tease it out in our imagination, to study it with our minds.
Still others love God all the way on Sunday, but we withhold our strength, our money, and our lives from the Lord on Monday. By Wednesday, we live no differently than we would if there were no Christ at all.
Maybe this smile with the whole self thing was easily done by Reese because she was still very young. Surely, the Jesus who gave the great commandment also smiled with his whole body as a child. Further, in the mystery of faith we confess that in that child named Jesus God himself smiled at us with his whole body.
That is, of course, part of the deep magic and wonder that is Christmas. But, come to think of it, the Gospel of John says that even as an adult Jesus cried with his whole body (in public, no less) before the grave of his friend Lazarus.
If Christ were willing and able to love with his whole self, then perhaps Christians are called to the same in his name.
The funny thing I discovered was being around baby Reese loosened me up. It returned me to times in my life when I smiled with my whole body more easily. When I was with her I’d do silly dances, sing pathetic, made-up rhymes, and speak in ridiculous, unknown languages. And I’d do it unashamed. I’d do it for love and with my whole self.
Maybe being around Jesus can help loosen me up as well. Maybe in there somewhere is a lesson about my life lived before the Lord, a lesson about Christian freedom in an often uptight, domesticated, but angry world.
A Reese’s Revenge from Karyssa…
No, dad, it’s not rude you told this about me.
It makes me think of another thing Jesus said. He told his disciples to be more like small, young people. And small, young people are more willing to rejoice big over a small, good thing. And be seen doing it.
Sometimes adults do this big rejoicing, but it needs to be something big that causes it. Like a miracle. Small things aren’t enough anymore. And adults seem to think the whole world will be watching them all the time, so they get embarrassed about rejoicing big.
But wonderful things need to be celebrated wonderfully. No matter their size. In that one story Jesus told, the woman celebrated big over a single coin she found, even if the party cost more than the coin was worth. I know sometimes I’ve gotten a new toy and felt a party inside myself that seemed bigger than the toy was.
I wonder if this is part of how adults lose the charm of Christmas. When you give a gift to someone else, you give love and care. You give to Jesus too. There’s power in giving. It doesn’t make sense to shrink the joy of giving. And the joy of getting.
Like mom talks about Roombas. Those robot vacuum cleaners. Getting one. What if someone finally gave her one? She’d be rejoicing, but not in her body to the outside world. We get trained that way. Maybe it’s different other places.
Maybe having a little child creates a problem of sorts with this because adults have to look at it all over again when kids are around.
Dad, you told that story about bouncing on your bum on Christmas morning. I remember sitting backwards in a rocking chair so excited about my birthday coming up that it was just bursting out of me. I think it was about my third birthday. The birthday we were in Katy, Texas and we had a pool and mom gave me her old Strawberry Shortcake dolls.
Dad, I think you saw me bursting out about my birthday in the rocking chair. And it was still three weeks until my birthday. Three weeks.
Little kids feel that, show that, and maybe it influences older kids and then adults. A chain reaction. Dominoes. One person can lead to a big body party by a lot of people.
But, my face and body don’t always show me accurately. My relaxation face can look kind of sad, but I’m not sad. My upset sad face is very different. If you see it, you know it, and you know it’s not the same as relaxation face. I’m vulnerable, choked up. I find it hard to talk. It’s different.
But, anyway, let the big joy out. It’s OK.
As a small child Reese smiled with her whole body.
Often I didn’t need to see her face to know she was filled with joy. Her hands would pivot up and down, her legs would swing and kick. Her whole being was caught up. She’d screech or cry “ooohhhhh!” and this would sound completely different than when she was in pain or was enraged.
Her whole body was overwhelmed by her happiness. It would flow through her like electricity. Sometimes it seemed her hair would get curlier than normal.
Even better yet, Reese wasn’t self-conscious about it. She simply didn’t restrain the physical wave of joy and was happy for anyone around to see it and maybe get caught up in it too. She’d let it flow, and she didn’t unnaturally try to dam it up within her or tamp it down for our civilized consumption.
Of course Reese also frowned with her whole body. No denying that. But right now I want to focus on the smile.
My parents tell me that I too did this long ago. As a boy about Reese’s age, on Christmas morning I’d sit in front of the Tree awaiting my chance to open my first present. My parents tell me my backside would literally bounce up and down in anticipation, in happiness, and – if I’m honest – perhaps a little greed thrown in for good measure.
I didn’t do as much of that as I got older. I tend to call that shift “maturity”, but, I’m not sure that the shift should always be given such a respectable label. Perhaps it would be better to call that change “domestication” or “taming” or something even less positive.
I’ve been thinking about all of this because of the words of Jesus. You’ve probably heard them before. I’ll paraphrase: Love God with your whole self – your mind, your body, your strength, your everything you have and are. And love your neighbor as yourself.
Many parts of Christian life come to mind as an illustration here, and worship is one. Many of us love God well with our minds, but not so well with our bodies. We feel odd if we start to tap our toes during the music of a Sunday service of worship. We hold back from singing out with gusto, even if we well-know and well-love the words to the hymn.
Others of us love God well with our emotions, but we don’t want to think about our faith, to tease it out in our imagination, to study it with our minds.
Still others love God all the way on Sunday, but we withhold our strength, our money, and our lives from the Lord on Monday. By Wednesday, we live no differently than we would if there were no Christ at all.
Maybe this smile with the whole self thing was easily done by Reese because she was still very young. Surely, the Jesus who gave the great commandment also smiled with his whole body as a child. Further, in the mystery of faith we confess that in that child named Jesus God himself smiled at us with his whole body.
That is, of course, part of the deep magic and wonder that is Christmas. But, come to think of it, the Gospel of John says that even as an adult Jesus cried with his whole body (in public, no less) before the grave of his friend Lazarus.
If Christ were willing and able to love with his whole self, then perhaps Christians are called to the same in his name.
The funny thing I discovered was being around baby Reese loosened me up. It returned me to times in my life when I smiled with my whole body more easily. When I was with her I’d do silly dances, sing pathetic, made-up rhymes, and speak in ridiculous, unknown languages. And I’d do it unashamed. I’d do it for love and with my whole self.
Maybe being around Jesus can help loosen me up as well. Maybe in there somewhere is a lesson about my life lived before the Lord, a lesson about Christian freedom in an often uptight, domesticated, but angry world.
A Reese’s Revenge from Karyssa…
No, dad, it’s not rude you told this about me.
It makes me think of another thing Jesus said. He told his disciples to be more like small, young people. And small, young people are more willing to rejoice big over a small, good thing. And be seen doing it.
Sometimes adults do this big rejoicing, but it needs to be something big that causes it. Like a miracle. Small things aren’t enough anymore. And adults seem to think the whole world will be watching them all the time, so they get embarrassed about rejoicing big.
But wonderful things need to be celebrated wonderfully. No matter their size. In that one story Jesus told, the woman celebrated big over a single coin she found, even if the party cost more than the coin was worth. I know sometimes I’ve gotten a new toy and felt a party inside myself that seemed bigger than the toy was.
I wonder if this is part of how adults lose the charm of Christmas. When you give a gift to someone else, you give love and care. You give to Jesus too. There’s power in giving. It doesn’t make sense to shrink the joy of giving. And the joy of getting.
Like mom talks about Roombas. Those robot vacuum cleaners. Getting one. What if someone finally gave her one? She’d be rejoicing, but not in her body to the outside world. We get trained that way. Maybe it’s different other places.
Maybe having a little child creates a problem of sorts with this because adults have to look at it all over again when kids are around.
Dad, you told that story about bouncing on your bum on Christmas morning. I remember sitting backwards in a rocking chair so excited about my birthday coming up that it was just bursting out of me. I think it was about my third birthday. The birthday we were in Katy, Texas and we had a pool and mom gave me her old Strawberry Shortcake dolls.
Dad, I think you saw me bursting out about my birthday in the rocking chair. And it was still three weeks until my birthday. Three weeks.
Little kids feel that, show that, and maybe it influences older kids and then adults. A chain reaction. Dominoes. One person can lead to a big body party by a lot of people.
But, my face and body don’t always show me accurately. My relaxation face can look kind of sad, but I’m not sad. My upset sad face is very different. If you see it, you know it, and you know it’s not the same as relaxation face. I’m vulnerable, choked up. I find it hard to talk. It’s different.
But, anyway, let the big joy out. It’s OK.