Football

I’m not very good at football, but my grandson wants to play. He got all the gear this Christmas—a helmet (a real one), shoulder pads, Tony Romo shirt, pants with knee pads. I can hear his bright voice, “Grandpa, can you come out and play football with me?” “Sure I can,” I always say and off we go. I am one team and he’s the other. The rules change as we play, laughing and tackling. Its about memories, love, attention and the stage of life a little nine-year-old is living. And I reflect, given the developmental differences and the shared consciousness, are my interests just another game being played with the Divine Beloved—patiently and with love, pushing at the developmental edge?