by Charlotte Carpenter
A slow but steady rain came down all that wintry morning and froze where it
fell—on the ground, the trees, the buildings. By mid-afternoon the rain had
stopped, and we looked on a crystal world. We were accustomed to the white
hoarfrost of winter, but this was something else—a hard, clear coating of solid
ice. Our five children, ages five to sixteen, returned from school exclaiming
about how good the sledding would be on the steep hill in our pasture.
They took out at once, but they never reached their destination, for between
home and hill lay a gently rolling, treeless meadow. Here they found that their
sleds would speed over the ice from fence to fence with only the weight of their
bodies to keep them going. What fun they had. When they came home to chores and
supper, they were so excited. “Mom and Dad, you’ve got to come with us down to
the pasture tonight,” they said. They had never seen ice so slippery that they
didn’t need a hill for coasting on their sleds.
Why should fortyish parents risk life and limb by going out on a dangerously
slick night? They begged until we simply could not refuse them.
Gingerly we made our way to the meadow. Even with rubber footgear, we found
it hard to walk. The sleds we pulled kept sliding into the backs of our legs. It
was very cold, and my husband, the practical one, carried an armload of wood to
build a fire.
We will never forget the unbelievably beautiful sight that met our eyes when
we reached the meadow. The moon and stars, shining brilliantly as they do only
on clear, cold nights, turned the meadow into a lake of glass. We built our fire
at the top of a slight incline. The ice reflected us, and the leaping flames
danced on the ice.
Again and again the children and sleds flew over the ground. If two rode
together, the sled went faster—so fast the riders could barely turn in time to
avoid crashing into the fence. The littlest ones rode back to the starting
point, easily pulled by older brothers. We parents envied them—the hardest part
for us was walking back after the ride. We left most of the sledding to our
children and stayed near the fire, absorbed in the dreamlike magic of the
night.
We all felt so good when we started back that we hardly noticed our cold feet
and tired bodies.
“Will the ice still be here tomorrow?” one of the children asked.
“Probably not if the sun shines,” I answered. And sure enough, by midmorning
the ice was gone, leaving only an expanse of brown grass.
To this day, when we’re in the meadow, whether it’s covered with the
luxuriant green of summer or the white snow of winter, we remember the wonder of
that night. Despite six other witnesses I harbor a slight doubt that it was
real, for the experience seems like something we must have imagined.
My husband and I learned several things that night: to enjoy an interlude of
joy when it comes; not to put off our children when they find something
wonderful and so unusual that it may never happen again; and not to say, “We’re
too busy now. It will have to wait.” We go with them to see a new calf, a robin
on the lawn, a butterfly or bug. We share their excitement over a ballgame, a
school play, or graduation. For now we know this: Refuse to take the time, and
you will miss something precious to hold in memory. A magical sledding on glass
in the starlight may happen only once in a lifetime.
Looking ahead…
Young children view the world with a unique blend of awe and urgency.
Everything, from a rainbow to a chocolate sundae, is new and exciting to them.
And everything needs to be experienced right now!
We sometimes get impatient with this perspective—yet we could learn from it.
For as we plow through our endless list of chores and responsibilities,
postponing time with our loved ones, life hurtles by— like a sled in a meadow of
ice. Before we know it, we’re standing before heaven’s gates, wondering how we
got there so fast. Don’t miss the precious nights of magic on the way.
- James C Dobson
From Night Light For Couples, by Dr. James
& Shirley Dobson
Copyright © 2000 by James Dobson, Inc. All rights
reserved.
“Our Night of Magic” by Charlotte Carpenter. © 1993. Excerpted from
Legacies, ed. Maury Leibovitz and Linda Solomon, published by HarperCollins.
Reprinted with permission.
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