Eleven or Twelve

Have you ever just watched a kid? I don't mean a two or three year-old--I mean an eleven, twelve year-old junior higher. Have you ever just watched one be himself? I'm at E. Cypress Starbucks on the patio, and there's this family (at least I think it's a family) of three sitting in the opposite corner from me. A woman, a man, an eleven or twelve year-old boy. The boy has sandy blonde, wavy hair, and he's telling the adults a story right now. Hand motions and sound affects and giggles at his own jokes--this kid is alive with animation, and we're all the better for it. I can see his parents looking at him like he's both a mystery and someone they can understand far better than anyone else. I can see that they delight in his tales, not concerned at all with the time or the sun hitting them smack dab in the eyes. I watch all of this, and I think about how important it is to delight in a kid like this.

When I have a kid, I want to be that interested in my child. I want to be enamored by his facial expressions and impressed by the social skills he's picking up somewhere, somehow...
I want to remember those simple things about him when I walk past his messy room or ground him for saying a certain four-letter word he learned (somewhere, somehow). And I want to take him out to coffee--as a family. I want to hear his stories and jump into what's important to him.
I think maybe when I go to coffee with God, this is what He desires, too. Do I tell God stories like that? I am His kid--a little older than eleven or twelve, but to Him, about the same maturity level. Do I let my self relax and let the expressions of it come through to connect with my Dad? If I did, I'd probably have a much more content spirit.

Because what I'm watching right now is a kid with a content spirit. I can just tell by the way he sits comfortably with these two adults, who may or may not be his parents.