I don’t believe he ever really tires. He just stops for a bit. Some call it sleep.
More like recharging.
You go with it.
And enjoy the ride.
I’m enamored with his energy and enthusiasm.
Huck, his mom, Jillian, baby brother Landry and I spent two hours one morning at a place in Austin called The Thinkery. A children’s museum.
It was as if a consortium of imaginations got together and came up with the most fun they could think of. This place was incredible.
We didn’t stop moving for two hours. We went from the water room, where being drenched was the goal, to the food room, where you could grab a basket and select “produce”. There were climbing places to challenge the fear factor. Bouncing rooms full of squishy-shaped pieces you could build and destroy. Plastic riding animals that bounced as long as your legs lasted. And a glow bright room, where you could make designs with lights.
We didn’t even get to the rest of it.
Huck was like a whirling dervish, moving from room to room, engaging in play and adventures in curiosity. He couldn’t factor the fun fast enough. He was fascinated with the learning process, and I was amazed at his staying power.
In my effort to learn to breathe more intentionally, to consider calmness as a best practice, I’m learning something from the human tornado that is my grandson.
Life is best lived full out, full on, eyes wide open. There comes a time–on a consistent basis–when you have to stop. Let it all go.
(Feel free to hum a few bars from the “Frozen” soundtrack here.)
Huck could go full blast through this experience, enjoying every bit of it. When he came home, he ate and took his nap. He didn’t question what we hadn’t done. He didn’t whine about wanting to go back. He fell asleep.
Sure, he can whine and demand.
So can I.
He’s pretty savvy about knowing when to give it up. Or something else catches his fancy and he’s off on a new track.
He’s helped me see that there’s nothing wrong with embracing life in all it’s fullness and fun. In pursuing our passions with energy and joy.
The rest part. That’s where I come up short. Knowing when–and how–to rest.
Knowing when to let it go.
God gave us a template to live by when He accomplished creation. He worked for six days making life good. And rested on the seventh. Not because He was tired, but to show us how to rest our souls and hearts so we could engage life fully and well. So we’d have the resources we need to deal with the dailies.
Without whining about exhaustion. My mantra of late.
God knows what I can handle. What I can’t sustain. What’s good for me.
Me? I get overwhelmed by what I should, could, would do on any given day.
He’s teaching me to turn off the tornado.