First Communion

I was just relaxing after the first sting of hot water this morning when I sensed shuffling on the other side of the curtain.
"Ahhah ma blah blah (I understood nothing over the rushing water) .... me!"
"OK!" I generously tossed out, compeltely to appease the intruder.

Suddenly, the curtain pulled back and a naked 2-year-old appeared, in full SpiderMan pose on the side of the tub, ready to jump. (At least, at this point, I was pretty sure he was naked. I wasn't wearing contacts so all I could really make out were the body crouch, the extended arms, and a lot of peach tone where there used to be red pajamas.)

Now, there is some precedent for Miles jumping in the shower. He occasionally showers with his Daddy, at nightime, in lieu of a bath. So I had to figure he felt this intrusion within acceptable behavior. I, on the other hand, was pretty peeved.

I believe my actual thought was, "What the hell!? Is there NOWHERE I can go to be alone in this house?" But it was too late to stop a toddler in motion, so I held out my arms to prevent bloody injury and set him down on the non-skid decals.

And there we stood: Me at one end of the tub, all soppy hair, hunched back and bad attitude, and he at the other end, all excited, squirming, shivering boyhood. "Cold! It's cold, Mommie! Make me warm!"

"OK, OK! Come here, I'll pick you up." (At least, I was thinking, if he's elevated by my arms, I won't have to worry about what he's noticing below them, whether it's scarring him for life, and what embarrassing questions I'll have to field -- possibly in public -- later .) So, as a duty and definitely not a choice, I picked up my wet boy and held his back against the warm shower spray.

His damp, heavy head immediately went to my shoulder. His impossibly skinny arms curved around my neck, and his oh-so-small ribs pressed into my chest. He curved his knees around my waist and dangled one leg on either side of me. And there he perched, completely still but for the occasional sway of a foot, for the longest time.

I noticed three things. Our breathing relaxed. The hot water heater kept working. And, really, I wasn't that put-out. Instead of feeling intruded upon, I felt kind of... peaceful.

I think it was the water. There really is something sacred about a shower, isn't there? Something Heavenly in the stop-everything stillness we adopt under its warm, steady flow. Even if only for a moment, we give in to the shower. We let it wash over us. We let it do its relaxing/ invigorating/cleansing work on us. And that seems holy.

As Miles and I stood there, I searched to define the holy in our morning's detour. I couldn't get it at first. Maybe I was trying to make a connection between the shower and baptism? But no. This felt like a totally different kind of communion. But of course, it hit me: Communion! Sharing a shower with Miles was, somehow, like taking Communion.

"We are one in the Spirit; we are one in the Lord." We sang those words before Communion at my church in Colorado. I so liked the thought of being one among many, and just part of One. I held to the idea that our ties to God make us "one" even more than our family ties. Now, I hold to the idea that my family's efforts will be multiplied by the work of countless other "ones" -- preschool workers and Sunday School teachers, friends and families of friends -- so that my son will eventually eat the bread and drink the cup and know that he is one in the Spirit, too.

"One bread, one body. One sacrifice." These are the words of a Communion hymn at my Texas church. Three simple fragments but what a story! It's one I want Miles to hear and understand. One I want him to live. It will be a while before he can begin to process the act Jesus instructed "this do in remembrance of me." But he'll get there! And for now, a simple body-to-body, heart-to-beating-heart moment in the shower may be the closest thing I can offer.

I've had my misgivings -- and how! -- about East Texas, but my soul tells me we're in the right spot for right now. I feel our family is working towards being "one" in this life. And I am gushingly grateful for each of God's other children who are helping us raise a son. They may never hold a tiny little boy under warm rushing water, but they will hold the hands, and the heart, of a growing man.

Thanks for the shower today, Miles... the first of many holy communions.