Sitting on beach rocks, waves lunging forward then back, my mind drifts to our honeymoon.
When we were young.
And deliciously unaware of what our future held.
Fast-forward almost 12 years and, let’s be frank, babies and age, transitions and loss, and a tinyish detail called gravity and I wouldn’t trade now for then knowing every year offers authentic, dependent faith. Yes, I may miss that body, but I am most comfortable in the one I wear today.
I suppose the challenge is appreciating what is until it’s gone.
Talking with a best friend from college who now lives light years away.
Those dating “warm fuzzies.” Sometimes bills and parenting and “Did you take the trash out?” blur the valued qualities of the spouse I fell in love with.
Re-reading hilarious texts from my dad.
Another impromptu brownie date.
Another I love you.
Another I’m sorry.
There was a day on vacation when every time Bry walked through the door, he’d hand me a plumeria bloom. So endearing, by the fifth flower, I couldn’t help but smile as I tucked it behind my ear, knowing it’s one of his millions of love gestures I’ll miss one day.
I love how my mom sends a call or text right before she boards a plane, complete with every emoji under the sun.
I love how a dear friend calls on her lunchbreak, and the way our boys hold the hose and take turns watering growing pumpkins.
I love how every night without fail Ty pulls up his shirt and asks me to sing Jesus Loves Me, and how Tanner makes fun when Bryan and I dance.
I love that the boys think of the donut lady when they visit Papa Shorty and how, when sitting on the swing at sunset, the sky smells of summer bonfires and bbq.
I love that friend’s kids know their way around our kitchen to find their favorite cup in the bottom drawer.
I love how our washer shimmies against the shared living room and garage wall and when big loads like quilts or beach towels bounce around, we have to turn up the volume to watch Gran Hotel.
I love that every time Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch sings from our playlist, the boys squeal, knowing it’s “our” song.
I love that Bryan teases me for loving dusk because it’s “the air you can’t feel,” and knows drives along the coast cure any cranky day.
Such simple, non-flashy parts of life.
What everyday occurrence will you miss when it’s gone? Who? What meal? What song? What normal part of your routine?
Knowing life is never promised another day, how I want to embrace today. Each person. Every conversation. Small cracks that remind there is so.much.joy to be noticed in the mundane.
Let’s tuck those tender treasures away and hold them close.
Let’s offer thanks to the creative Maker of all things.
Let’s appreciate what is until it’s gone.
And after still.