It was actually a dust-buster on a handle, but in the eyes of my 3-year-old grandson, he had been given (by his parents) the best possible birthday present. No need for other presents (grandparents' best efforts to the contrary). Hold off on the candles and the singing. This was delight in its full perfection, not to be distracted. We could see it on his face, hear it in his voice, read it in his body language. A new-found vacuum treasure in a house full of carpets. Joy without limit; joy made real. In so many ways it was a moment above the rest; a moment to savor.
For me, the vacuum cleaner moment has long since passed, but the savoring remains. It’s a delight that often plays in my head (and on my phone, if you’d care to see it). It takes me back to the image of a child, my grandchild, so fully known and wonderfully loved that the only possible response, from him and all who shared that moment, was joy.
And now, here were are in Advent, with Christmas close at hand. For many, the delights of the season are easy and everywhere. For others, they are diluted by distractions. Calendars are crammed with commitments. Heartache makes the reality of delight hard to hold. And so we wonder: Where are our vacuum cleaner moments, the ones that ask us to stop and savor, that insist that we are fully known and wonderfully loved? Where is the joy made real? Waiting for us, in a manger.
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