My older son, Clayton, loves to play “Ring Around the Rosie.” It’s the “all fall down” part he loves (of course!) In recent days, I’ve distracted him from many-a-meltdown by saying “Want to play ring around the Rosie?” The answer is always a resounding YES! Today, while I was folding laundry on the other side of my room, my back to the boys, Clayton had convinced his younger brother, Samuel, to play it with him. This is a minor miracle, as Clayton’s usual interactions with Sam often involve shoving, tears, and cries of “MY TURN!” They’re little, and they’re still learning how to play together. But there they were, so sweetly playing ring around the rosie together. “All fall DOWN!” My first instinct, for better or worse, was this: Get the cell phone! Record it! This is so precious! Everyone needs to see!” But the phone was far away, and I knew that if I walked across the room the game would be broken up and the moment would be over. Instead I just sat there and enjoyed it, vowing to take a mental note. It was a holy moment. Holy because it was a moment of peace between two brothers who are still a bit too rough most of the time, holy because of their sweet, sweet voices, but also holy because it was just me, watching it, unencumbered by the preoccupation of capturing it and sharing it. It’s so tempting to try and capture every little moment on the phone to share, to remember, to have forever, but I wonder sometimes if I’m not cheating myself of these holy moments by trying to save it all and share it all. There’s a beauty in letting life unfold before your eyes knowing that this moment will never be replayed again and trusting that you’ve seen all you need to see and you’ve captured all you need to capture. It’s enough, sometimes.
For Further Reading: Are Millennials Falling Out of Love with Technology?