I got to sit and marvel over both my sons last night. One with longish red hair and a still-cherubic face and viola vibe. The other with this dignified silence his friends can’t ignore. The way our lives twist and turn, taking on hues and chords we never imagined before struck me as I sat there with my daughter in-between me and the father of my children, a man who is friend and co-parent but no longer husband. It was at once amusing and moving. Amusing because the ironies are many and moving because it works beautifully. Like my eldest son’s chucks and long hair with black dress pants and long-sleeved white shirt, the concert garb of a boy from a family held by love.
The image below shows my eldest son, Isaac, complete with cleft chin and slight smile. For over a year now he’s been dubbed “Jesus” by some of his classmates. The irony of such, given the intensity of my past life, blasts a trumpet of hilarity and resilience the likes of which I have to say I thoroughly revel in. I still have the leather purse given me at a tender age with the phrase “Jesus is King” etched on the outside by the maker, one of those 60’s hippie-style numbers with a Jesus Freak twist. I still have appreciation for what Christ accomplished. But my sense of humor sings louder than anything else on this one colorful thread of life’s relentless irony weave.
Does Isaac mind being called Jesus? No, it was meant as a joke because he’s grown his hair fairly long for this quiet town in the Bible Belt and he’s one of those compassionate but candid creatures with a propensity for keeping it simple. A young man of few words, the moniker has stuck. Give this Jesus 2 hours on Minecraft and the worlds he builds are intricate and elaborately planned. His deep affection shows little use for words while the hugs, pats, and meaningful eye contact sing a silent feast. He feels deeply but don’t ask him to say much. Isaac is busy with his amness. And he’s rockin’ great at it.
Formerly known as Buddha Boy, back when he was a chunky toddler, it’s fitting his friends playfully call him Jesus now. His hair goes a few inches past his shoulders and he’s been known to evoke the nickname “string-bean.” This shift to Jesus works well. It goes right along with the path he’s on, not in terms of service to humanity but just in the way he’s open to the various songs of truth coming from seemingly opposed forces. And that, in itself, is a service, isn’t it?
Buddha boy should inevitably take a Jesus turn. And it’s a blast to watch him grow, play his way along the violin’s voice and kick a soccer ball with the kind of precise finesse you expect of someone who cares about detail. More and more I love these lives whose actions speak so many things, singing varied melodies and saving their world one work of individuality at a time.