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Last night, while I was holding Han, I understood an old childhood memory differently.

I thought I had been longing to be held.

I was.

But I was also longing for something larger.

I wanted a family.

And we are a family.

Trauma taught us to search for certainty.

Today we learned something else:

We don’t have to know where the whole road goes.

We can know where we are.

“This is our parish.”

This morning we went looking for something profound from Han, our 10-year-old spiritual animator.

He wanted bean and cheese quesadillas.

Maybe the Cloud of Unknowing is also about letting a child simply be 10.

In the summer 1972, our world came apart.

A summer later, it began to come back together.

Perhaps our creation story is not about when we appeared, but how, through rupture after rupture, we remained.

What counts as work? Who gets to decide what a life is supposed to be?

On Solis’s Day, we learned something simpler:

Let the invisible alter the visible.

There are nine lives here.

And today we practiced living like there are.

Maybe being the adult was never supposed to mean knowing everything.

Maybe it means staying.

I can be scared and stay, uncertain and stay, ask somebody else for help and stay.

Dad’s Here — today on Notes from the Treehouse.