The other afternoon Sean and I went out for a walk. It was a glorious Indian summer day, warm and peaceful and perfect in every way.
He spied the very last of the ripened dandelions and plucked it out of the ground. “Okay Mom,” he said, “Be quiet.”
I stood quietly and respectfully off to the side while he stood as still as a totem pole, eyes closed and holding up the dandelion to his lips. Then he whispered, “I wish Vivian could come see me every year!”
He inhaled deeply with a squeak and then blew with all his might, scattering his wish to the wind. He blew and blew and blew until there was nothing left but a bald stem.
As we continued our walk towards home, I told him I thought that was a nice wish. I told him I thought it was much better to wish for people than for stuff.
He nodded in agreement. Then he said, “You know a prayer is kind of like a wish you share with God.”
All I could do was nod in agreement.