A Discipline of Noticing
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There are lines from a poem by Ted Kooser to his mother that I think about often. In the poem, simply called “Mother,” Kooser grieves after his mother’s death. He misses her. But it’s the last lines that haunt me:
Were it not for the way you taught me to look
at the world, to see the life at play in everything,
I would have to be lonely forever.
I think of these words as a directive. They are my prayer for my vocation as a mother, that I would teach my sons to see the life at play in everything.