A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; 
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. 

Walt Whitman

Nothing is more suburban than mowing the grass on a Saturday morning. The whir of other lawn mowers fills the air, water flows down the road from someone washing their car up the street, and the smell of freshly cut grass permeates the air. Since God rested in the Garden of Eden, this is the closest to heaven that we can get. It is a ritual not understood by those in the city, and undertaken alone by those in the country.

And then the tranquil bliss is interrupted by the most angelic of beings… your 4 year old walking up wanting to help. How do you explain why the grass needs to be cut, or even what the grass is? How do you explain that the blade on the bottom of the lawn mower can create a BIG problem really quickly without scarring him for life? Or that him “helping” will add 20 minutes to a task that was only going to take 15 minutes in the first place. You can’t. You can only breathe deep and stare in wonder at the world the way a child does, when the days seem to last forever, the sun is always warm, and nothing is better than playing outside with your friends and your imagination.

And then that breathe is interrupted by your 2 year old walking up wiping her mouth with dirt stained hands saying the dirt tastes “yucky” with a horrendous look on her face. As you laugh because you remember doing the same thing when you were a child, you help her wipe her mouth out and ask if she learned something from the experience. And then you take a deep breathe, enjoy the smell of the cut grass, and let time pass slowly for a few minutes, basking in the moment.

Does this sound familiar? Isn’t this all of our experience every weekend? No? Me neither. I wish I could say I took the time to embrace and experience the peace, the Jewish concept of shalom. That slice of perfection this side of heaven that is spending a perfect summer morning cutting the grass and enjoying the weather with your family. But I don’t. Why not? Why do I let the worries of Monday affect my Saturday. Why do I worry about the events planned for the weekend instead of being in the moment? Why do I feel envious because the Joneses seem to be able to relax by their pool while I’m out here?

It’s way too easy for us to get sidetracked from the pictures of perfection, or heaven on Earth, that are put before us. I’m not saying the Suburbs are heaven (although I do enjoy living here). I’m saying the situations we are put in resemble Heaven in those ways. If we can find a way to be content, to live in those moments and cling to them, we’d find that the stress melts away, our families become stronger, and the worries of this world don’t have as much power over us.

Cheers,

-SF