My son and I look at each other across the kitchen, eyes wide.
“What was that?”
“I’ve no idea.”
We shrug and move to the living room to watch a documentary on Lewis and Clark. History geeks that we are, we call this high entertainment. And one-on-one time spent with a college student in his last year at home is priceless.
I look out the window at the smoking burn barrel.
“What did you throw in the trash?” This question is followed by his first and middle names.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Our back yard has taken on the look and demeanor of a war zone. Noses pressed against the windows, we watch as several more explosions launch flaming bits of paper into the stratosphere.
“’Nothing’ doesn’t blow up.”
His shoulders start to jiggle and his lips twitch.
“What did you throw in the trash?” I not only use his first, middle and last names. . .at this point I’m reciting his entire social security number.
“I might have thrown away some old CO2 cartridges I used to use in that pellet gun Grandpa gave me.”
“You’re going to be the death of us yet.”
“Yeah, but isn’t it cool?”
We stand and watch more flaming eruptions and smoldering fallout. Thankfully the ground is still frozen and half covered with snow. I wrap an arm around my son’s waist and lean my head on his shoulder.
“You’re an idiot, but I love you.”
I can picture my Heavenly Father, with His arm around my shoulder, standing side-by-side with me as I blow up things in my life. He loves me, even when I’m an idiot. Even when I loose flaming debris across the landscape of the life He has purposed for me. Praise God!