My Dear Son. My Dear Typology

Today, my son was really upset, crying as we were unable to please him. We were busy cleaning the house because we're soon going to be moving into a two-bedroom. There was much to do, but before I got too involved, I wanted some time on the porch swing outside for silence, to think, to meditate, communicate with God.
I remembered how much my son likes to be outside and how he loves the porch swing, the wind on his face. I offered to take him with me because I was certain that it would calm him down.
As soon as I picked him up in my arms, he stopped crying, glancing around interestedly as though suddenly the world became a much happier place. I walked with him outside and sat on the swing. The fall weather was beautiful, sunny but pleasant with several amiable clouds overhead. It seems in fall everything is busier. People preparing for the holiday season, getting back into the pattern of school, exams, long hours at work. Even nature seems busier with all the changes, all the hornets and bees scampering around as though they were gathering a harvest for winter.
But for me autumn is a time where I begin to feel at rest. And it is also a time of beauty, a time of beholding, of change, of the lessons of seasons which God is flannel graphing in front of us.
I sat on the swing and just listened, taking in the air, the sounds, the distant noise of clamorous golfers at the country club down the road from our apartment.
I began to listen to my spirit. Some readers might immediately stop and roll their eyes. I suppose that is expected since such an action seems rather mystical or weird, but I believe this is an action which is used more often than perhaps many of us think. I believe, for example, that we listen to our spirit when we are moved to compassion toward another. Or when, perhaps, we refuse to take the easy way out in a love relationship with someone. It is something that is higher than even reason, it is a voice of right. It might be said that this voice is all but silenced in someone who is not a believer, but that is another discussion for another time. My point which I wish to make at this time is that I was listening to my spirit. My spirit is basically, for those who may be wondering, quite simply just the voice of God. I began to fill my thoughts with things I have only imagined, about things that are to come for me. It began to be a rather meaningful moment for me when suddenly I looked down and saw that my son was asleep. But not just snoozing, he was sound asleep. A train wreck could not have woke him. He felt safe and at ease in my arms. At that moment, something whispered in my thoughts, "This is where you are."
I felt safe. I felt peace. I began to realize that even though I was not physically resting within the arms of my Father in heaven, my heart and mind were at rest in Him. I felt close to something, to someone.
I began to understand that all my struggles were not meaningless, all my hopes and fears were not trivial. My life has meaning. I may not entirely know what that is, but I have caught glimpses. One glimpse is the image of my son resting against my chest lulled to sleep by the autumn breeze.
I glimpse it again in the way that I watch my wife right now trying to put him to bed as she sways back and forth singing softly in his ear while holding him tightly.
I glimpse it again when I write a song which grabs me by the soul and I didn't even yet write the words. All these things might sound so dramatic to some, but these things are things which I find beautiful. There are many more things of course which I find beautiful, but this is what was given me today.