Heart and Mind and the Highest Praise I've Heard

"Heart and mind, Elise."

Her gaze returned from its most recent target across the street, back to the table where we were all eating supper. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. Forgot." And she was back, at least for the moment.

Two aspects of summer that I love are open windows and kids in the neighborhood playing outdoors. What my children occasionally struggle with, however, is that combination when we're eating supper. Or working in the garden. Or reading. Distractions suddenly swirl, and all of a sudden we've lost them, or at least a part of them, to the sounds of summer. Especially Elise, my 7-year old.

On Father's Day I wanted all of her. We were spending time as a family in the yard: we set up a croquet course, we grilled and ate supper on the patio, and we hit some wiffle balls. It was time to value our family and what we were doing. I told her I wanted her heart and her mind with us.

"Do you know that that means?" I asked her.

"Yeah. It means that you want all of me."

Yes. Yes I do. And I'm glad I had it, for at least a few hours.

Sunday was the first time I've used that term, but I see it becoming useful with a bit more frequency. It worked, and it communicated well exactly what I want from my daughters and their wandering hearts and eyes. For at least a little while, I want their eyes on us. I want their emotions on us. I want their ideas and desires to be shared with us, and I want them aware of the ideas and desires of the rest of the family. I don't just want their presence. I don't just want their eye contact. I want hearts and minds, the rest of the world be damned.

But lest I rush to claim it only as a target for them, I recognize how difficult it is for most of the adults I know to do this, myself included. But how much better would we all be, if we committed hearts and minds to a singular focus for at least a little time?

You can't do this all the time, of course. Or even most of the time. You must have the room to think for yourself, to learn from other sources, to bounce in and out of conversations and contacts both to get work done and to get play done. I've got eight windows open on my laptop right now, at least six of them currently useful. But surely there is space in the day, in the home, where others can claim yours and my heart and mind?

While meeting with someone from our church recently to discuss possible teaching/preaching opportunities, a mutual acquaintance from another part of Iowa came up. My church friend had recently met with him and made a statement in our conversation about him that captured exactly what it is I love about the man: "You know," he began, "That guy is hard to get a hold of, but once you've got him, you've got all of him. Maybe that's why it's so hard to get in touch with him: he's probably busy giving his all to someone else." I can imagine no higher praise than that.

Roy Peter Clark writes in his book Help! for Writers that "an inhibition to cut relates to an inability to select the best material." The extension of this advice beyond writing to life is clear. At times you've got to cut all but the best, otherwise the best will get crowded out. If you can't cut your phone for your friends or family who are with you, then you are giving your all to no one. If your heart is in church but your mind is elsewhere, you're probably neglecting both. When does your spouse have your heart and your mind? When do your kids? Your best friend? God?

If the answer is never, if you're giving them all Facebook-style attention, a quick glance or comment or thumbs up as you scroll through to find something else, then have you really committed to those relationships? Does quality time with them really matter?

The onslaught of attention-seekers in life can be brutal. Money, health, cooking, exercise, Netflix, laundry and that pipe that still leaks occasionally in my basement. Probably also the thousand things that a smart phone does as well. To be able to commit heart and mind requires a decision: nothing else but you matters right now. Nothing. Rather than sacrificial, this becomes freeing. There is nothing else to be done but to value the here and now.

This summer I've turned off the laptop at the breakfast table. When my daughters are eating, whether I am or not, I'm trying harder to give them my heart and my mind. They seem to like that much better than a barrage of comments like, "Just a second, let me finish this email." I still set aside time for email. Time for Facebook and Twitter and news headlines as well. Time to write, like I'm doing right now. But I've tried to carve out pieces of time where they get me, heart and mind. I find I don't miss the laptop.

After all, the neighbor kids will be out soon, and I've got to take what I can get.