As a father, I spend hours a week at playgrounds. For the first two years I shadowed my kiddo every single step. Now I stand at the periphery. I stand a lot. I wait a lot. Many and most parents and caregivers pass the hours on their phones. I understand their urge. Busy the mind. Give me something to do.
Yet something occurred to me around the time my daughter began climbing and sliding on her own.
This can be time for indwelling, for silent presence, for contemplative love. That inner-shift reoriented everything for me. I went from a dad biding his time to a father dwelling in prayer.
Shrieks of joy, tears of pain, and babble of all sorts fill the air. And I, attuned to heart, hear, “Papa! Look!” I cross the playground to my upside-down daughter who asks, “What're you doing?” And I tell her.