Been in a contemplative mood the past few days. Having people near and far from me struggling with their health, their relationships, wondering what’s ahead. It feels personal. As much as I’ve tried to avoid the thoughts, they’ve come to me in the quiet evening when everyone was gone, as I weeded and sorted through yard refuse in the twilight, tears just trickled down my cheeks without warning. It hit me driving in traffic just the other day. Out of nowhere, but I think it was my heart, my tears came again. In the quiet and peace of the most beautiful room in the temple, when I was finally alone with myself, I couldn’t hold them back. Defining moments over the years that come without warning. Todd making it home after a near collision with another truck last winter, what could’ve been worse deer accidents. Only a knee injury from Andrew’s dirt biking wreck last summer and another near-miss with the car. Here and there you get news that jolts you. You notice how close you came to losing it all. You still wonder if you might. It’s been that kind of week. News around me that has woken me up. Till I’m sitting straight up. Wide awake from my dream-like state, causing me to question what I’ve been doing all along and if I’ve gotten any of it right. And what I would change about even just yesterday if I knew I might not have too many tomorrows.
I played two-square with the kids. I drew them with chalk on the driveway. Like we used to do when we were that size. My kind of play. I really do feel like I’m one of them, a kid for a bit, a pal instead of the bossy mom. A card game with Bronwyn. And Callum and his friends. Met Todd for lunch. I had them help me with dinner. I made Todd’s favorite oatmeal raisin cookies. I found books for Mitchell at the library. We watched some comedy. Way past our bedtime. I sat on the porch alone with Bronwyn in the dusky evening. With mint chocolate chip ice cream cones. While everyone else was in town. Made jam with Todd. I suppose it’s not all that unusual, we’re simple by nature and so our pleasures are simple. But I notice that it’s fleeting. The time between times. You look up and realize it’s been three weeks since you just sat with a book during the day. Or penned a journal entry. Or sent a text not because you need to plan the cross country pasta party, but just to tell someone how much she means to you. Or cuddled up on his bed and just let him talk. Or took her out to lunch. But a lot of times we get it right and take our dinner outside and we linger. A gloriously simple way to slow down and meld with one another. Going on walks. Making pretzels. Reading stories. Eating our Sunday sundaes. Taking a break together, relishing the simple times. Making time for the simple times.
Because you just never know when your day to say goodbye will come. It could be in a flash, or you could have some time to finish up loose ends. But inevitably we will pull together all the tiny ordinary moments we’ve spent with people we love. And that we’ve shared with people we don’t even know. A smile to a little kid, a courtesy in busy line, letting two cars in when the traffic’s especially thick. Small and simple kindnesses, ordinary acts, regular days. Every day has made a difference. It’s a million days—more or less—that we’re given as gifts. To make a difference. To love. And be loved. To show others how cherished they are. To skip the dumb stuff like worrying about what to wear or finishing the list. And pay attention to the real stuff like eating dinner together and hugging the kids as much as we can. Even if they’re taller than us. I wish I was better at all this. I’m trying. But I’m not there. I need more time. It’s taking so long to get it right.
The only resource I’ve come to covet is time. I long for for more years, more days, more minutes. Because the only thing I do that matters to me when I really boil things down is what I do with people, mostly those in my home, but others too. I poured out my heart to Him. Even though He already knows what’s in it. I’m not ready to move on. I don’t know many who are. But I pleaded with Him to let me keep doing what I love. Let me raise my kids. Let me stay exactly where I am. Because even though I’ll be anxious for heaven down the road, I’ve found my heaven for now. Right where I am.
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