Holy Moments

Unpredictable. Unexpected. Without warning. We use these words to describe catastrophes and disasters.
How about holiness?

Sometimes holiness can be discovered at the most unpredictable times, in the most unlikely places. Like a dark evening on a grassy soccer-field—turned- parking-lot near the edge of the woods.

It was our son’s fourth year, and our daughter’s first, at a summer camp in Vermont, a place strong on interpersonal values that allowed kids to flourish in a noncompetitive atmosphere, free from rock music and video games.

We had driven up for the annual camp fair, a daylong series of activities that included dances, tepee raising, storytelling and, of course, quiet visits between parents and children.
    
The fair culminated in a square dance, with people of every age stepping lively to the music of the camp band. Then, after nightfall, a bonfire was followed by a friendship circle, some songs and the inevitable parting. And that’s when something special happened, leaving a lasting, magical imprint on my soul.
l should preface this by noting that at ages 12 and 9, neither of my kids was a candidate for sainthood. Like most children, they fought on occasion. Yet, as in any family, there were remarkably tender moments, the kind that make the hassles worthwhile.

Zack and Jessie accompanied my wife, Sherri, and me to our car, and it was there that we said goodbye. We hugged one another, and then, all at once, Jessie fell into Sherri’s arms and began sobbing. Suddenly homesick--understandably homesick.

We all hugged some more, and Zack put his arm around Jessie’s shoulders, assuring us, "Don’t worry. l’ll take care of her.” Then the two of them walked away.

I stood by the car and watched them as they slowly made their way across the large field where moments before there had been dancing and singing and laughter.

Now the field was all but empty, illuminated by the stars and the final embers of the bonfire. Neither child looked back, but I followed them with my eyes. Zack’s arm never left Jessie’s shoulders. They just kept walking, farther and farther away, until, at the end of the field, they had to climb a small hill. Jessie had a little difficulty; Zack helped her. Then they cleared the ridge and were out of sight.

And I thought to myself: Life doesn’t get any better than this! It was a holy moment.

Holy-a word we ought to use more often. It’s a mistake to associate holiness only with dusty books, sacred relics.

The word holy——kodesh in Hebrew—really means "set  apart," "special," and there are many times in our lives when we encounter the holy.

Once we recognize one of those special moments, the experience becomes part of our precious memory, our history, our treasure chest of resources from which to draw strength at difficult times, fond recollection at other times.

The key, the trick, the challenge is to be able to appreciate those moments when they occur. Holiness often doesn’t occur when expected; it often occurs when least anticipated. It can and sometimes is found during life-cycle events——births, marriages, anniversaries. But more often the special moments simply happen; they come upon us out of the clear blue sky: an unexpected reunion; a toddler’s first hug; a task well done.

These moments of holiness are food for the human spirit, and those who can recognize how special they are can be counted among life’s fortunate.

Life goes by so quickly, a roller-coaster ride of success and failure, victory and defeat. And because life’s experiences are so unpredictable, we need to embrace all the holy moments and weave them into the fabric of our being: my two kids walking across a wide field past the twinkling remains of a campfire, Zack’s arm around Jessie, the stars gleaming as brightly as the tears on my cheeks; and me, thinking, Life doesn’t get any better than this.


Robert A. Alper
Family Circle
1/7/1997