kairos time

It is a gift to live a mile from my daughters’ elementary school and we’ve walked as often as possible for the last eleven years. I walk for days like today.

Ready earlier than usual, Karios, the last one in elementary, was glad we could stroll rather than race the tardy bell. Her name, Greek for God’s timing, represents the qualitative, feminine aspect of time as opposed to Chronos--male, masculine time.

Yesterday we were late, cross and spoke hardly at all, Chronos time. But today we are on Kairos time. We talk. Or rather, she talks. Or rather, nuggets of ten-year-old gold pour from her mind and heart, her whole being really, and I scramble to collect them before they evaporate.

Taking turns leading, we shuffle through leaves. We stop to rub a neighbor’s rosemary bush then inhale each other’s hands. She makes vibrant leaf bouquets then rains them on us. We peek into a restaurant being renovated, finally, after a fire. The barber, Jim, pops out of his shop to ask about grades and Christmas wish lists. Counting the number of tires on trucks, we speculate on how it’s decided if a vehicle needs to be a twelve, sixteen or ten wheeler.

Such gold already.

Soon she whispers she's had a bad dream but won’t share it because it’s too scary to say aloud, especially outside. I mention feeling the same at her age. Then I ask her to promise to tell me or her dad if anything scary happens to her in awake life. She agrees and holds my hand. Some people, I offer, believe dreams help us sort through daytime stuff we can’t figure out. Like messengers, she quips. Yes, like that. This nugget of understanding; it is what I strive for as a parent.

We’re quiet for a moment. Then she confides: A stalker who shoots birds entered our house with his gun and she’s frantic to escape.

I remark on her bravery. She’s shared what minutes ago was too scary to say aloud, outside. Gold. May she look what scares her in the eye and name it. May she take wing in the presence of what aims to take her down. May she know the strength of her wings.

Later, we notice mottled bark on a tree. She comments it looks like Snowflake Obsidian then asks if I even know what that is, her tone an affectation borrowed from the twelve-year-old sister. I don’t, which means she gets to educate me. It’s the toughest stone there is and native peoples used it for arrowheads. There’s a piece in her classroom she can show me when we get there. But, she questions, how did they break it if it’s unbreakable and strong? Another nugget, ‘can you imagine how tightly packed the atoms and molecules are for it to be the strongest stone?’

I kiss her goodbye at the classroom door, our hands fragrant still with rosemary.

At home I learn this about Snowflake Obsidian:

It is calming and soothing. It teaches you to value mistakes as well as successes. A stone of purity, Snowflake Obsidian provides balance for body, mind and spirit. A stone for transformation, fulfillment, metamorphoses, manifestation. 

Kairos time.