Midlife Creative

As I entered the giant indoor amusement park of the Mall of America, I was
immediately bombarded by the noise, the bright lights, the squeals of children, and the
sound of rides. There was excitement in the air. It was a Saturday afternoon, and families
were there to make a memory together. I got the impression that people were determined to put the cares of everyday life on hold for a few hours to share some leisure time, finish the Christmas shopping, and maybe get that annual photo with Santa.

Whether it be a holiday tradition, a birthday celebration, or just an ordinary weekend leisure activity, it didn’t seem like money was an issue. Today was a day to forget how much things cost and go all out. I watched the same parents in line to buy tickets for the rides later
in line for the caricature drawings, facepainting, the arcade, and the food court.
Everything had a cost.
It must be adding up.
How could these families throw their hard-earned money (or credit card) on
a few hours of entertainment? I found myself judging their choices to spend frivolously on
their kids who didn’t seem to appreciate it nearly enough. One child cried, “I want ice
cream!” To that, the parent replied, “You want Everything!”

I tried to remember a time when I went to an amusement park like this as a child.
My Dad was a Christian school teacher, and my mom stayed at home with us seven kids.
We didn’t take vacations. We didn’t even go out to eat unless it was to Burger King where
we each got a burger from the value menu and all split a large order of fries, water cups all
around. Would I have even enjoyed a day at the Mall of America as a child? I certainly have
no desire to bring my kids on rides, get their face painted, or let them burn what little money we had on cheap stuffed animals pulled out of a glass box with a crane. I have a habit of adding up every penny in my mind and worrying about running out each month. This comes from a lifetime of wondering if we could make ends meet.

I’m super crabby about this, I quickly realize. I’m supposed to be feeling compassion for these people, but instead I’m falling into a downward spiral of judgmental thinking. I scold myself and try again. Maybe looking at peoples’ faces – into their eyes – will help me see them more clearly.

I watch a mom with iPhone poised and ready at the bottom of the log chute ride.
She is waiting for her kids to make the final plunge straight down into her view. She
wants to take a video and catch the looks on their faces, their screams, and the splashing
water as they finished the ride. She wants to make a memory that she can replay again
on the ordinary days when the adrenaline from today is gone. She works a lot and can’t remember the last time she had a day like this where she could focus on just being with her kids. As her kids come into view, her face lights up and her tired eyes shimmer with something that wasn’t there before.

I watch a young father holding his 18-month-old daughter, trying to keep her still enough for the caricature artist who is drawing their picture. His girlfriend has talked him into getting this picture drawn as a memory to keep of him and their baby at this age. She looks on in anticipation, waiting to see the final product. She hands Dad a bottle of milk to calm the child who is getting tired of sitting still. The mall was a favorite place to spend their days off. It was where they had met for their first date just two years ago. They had gotten a picture drawn by the same caricature artist on that very date. Now, they came back with their baby to get a similar piece made to hang next to the original.

I watch a couple of brothers with five kids between the two of them. They are at the arcade winning stuffed animals from the crane. They keep adding tickets, wanting everyone to go home a winner. They seem relaxed and happy and enjoying the challenge of the game. The crane is a family favorite because it was the one game the brothers used to play with their Dad when they were kids. Their families immigrated from Somalia in 1990 and their Dad died shortly after that when the boys were still in Elementary school. Coming to the mall and replaying this memory of something they used to do with their Dad helps them feel a little bit more connected to what they have lost and grateful to still have each other and their own kids who are growing up so quickly.

These are just snap shots from an observer; an outsider looking in. There are so many details I don’t know, but what I do see is the love in the caregivers’ eyes when they look at their kids. A love that would do anything to see the kids happy. A love that would move heaven and earth if it meant giving their child what they saw as “a good life”

My questions as a spiritual director for these caregivers would be: “What do these children mean to you? What are your hopes and dreams for them? What is God asking of you as their caregiver? What part of today at the mall held special meaning for you?

My prayer of blessing for these caregivers would be:
“Heavenly father, you delight in your children and long to give them good gifts. You are not
stingy or tight-fisted in how you display love, but generous. Your love overflows in a way
that may appear extravagant to the world that is watching. Just as the woman who
anointed Jesus with a costly perfume and washed his feet with her hair, you desire to lavish your children with love. I ask a blessing on the time these families have together today. I pray that these snap shots taken will not be here today and gone tomorrow, but will
become lasting memories. I pray that these children will grow up feeling safe and loved,
and if they don’t, I pray you would watch over them and lead them to a safe place of
belonging.”