This last week has again reminded me of what really matters. Home. Not money, not fame, not success, not the "next-big-thing", a better grade, a nicer set of clothes, a bigger car. Life matters. Life, in all its forms, is precious. And when we lose a life, or many, we are reminded what a priceless commodity life truly is. It shouldn’t take a tragedy for us to remember this. We should be living each day cherishing the life around us.
I love this picture. Love the early sun peeking through Lorelei’s window. There is something about sunshine (especially after a storm) that gently caresses you, that warms you, that reminds you that God is there. "…Surely I am with you always, even to the end of the age." (Matt. 28:20 b)
Something about times like these make you hold everything you cherish a little bit closer. Saturday morning, our family downshifted a bit. Sure, we had tons to get done over the weekend. James is heading into finals with all the ensuing projects, papers, and tests; We anxiously await word on job prospects; the laundry was practically mountainous, and we won’t even begin to discuss the dirt (ahem, cheerios) ground into the carpet. In short, a long, busy weekend, full of things that have to get done before Monday. But Saturday morning…no obligations. No "to-do" lists, if only for a second. I am not kidding you, we all piled into the bed, chowing down on cinnamon rolls, and watched cartoons. All five of us, piled into the bed in our room, watching Tom and Jerry and the oldies that make Saturday morning cartoons great. Morning sun peeking in the window. We technically didn’t roll out of bed until around 11 am! And you know what? My pulse slowed. My heart expanded. Jerry wacked Tom over the head with a block of cheese, and my kids dissolved into laughter. A child laughing. Innocent, unbridled, curl your toes up, laugh till you cry, belly laughter. I remembered. Life is good. It may not seem like it. There are clouds over head. I know in the larger scheme of things, my children may not be safe, that they may be gone in an instant. My dearest husband too. Life is fleeting. But I have right now. I have this moment. The sunshine peeking over the windowsill. The laughter of children. The deliciousness of snuggling in bed with everything I hold dear. Smelling Lorelei’s hair, like the lilacs and lavender in her shampoo. The smiles. I have this moment. These moments, these lives, are priceless. The rest of it will fade, but life carries on.