The sun is shining as I watch my three-year-old at play.
It is still chilly outside, but the beauty of the day has beckoned us out the door in our hoodies to proudly announce the arrival of spring—it may be a timid shout, but we are taking what we can get.
A long winter is finally over. And I believe I can now say that without regret.
I am just happy to see my little son playing in our yard.
The backyard is his oyster right now as he navigates it like a seasoned sailor. He stands on top of his playhouse with one hand freely waving in the air as he shades his eyes from sun and looks upon everything that is his. Joyfully he showers himself with handfuls of green grass and delights in a bright purple flower he found growing next to his swing set, which he carefully places behind my ear and kisses my cheek.
(Be still my heart.)
I demonstrate the opposite as I shiver a bit under my zipped jacket and tie my hood under my chin. While I appreciate the improvement, my thoughts are already skipping ahead to the pool-side days of summer.
Suddenly the beauty of right now starts to sag as I feel even colder and more dissatisfied. Forgetting the warmth of today, I dream of something more. I always seem to live in anticipation of a better day.
In winter I waited for spring, now in spring I wait for summer, and so it goes. Not my little son though; even in the winter he trudged in the snow with open arms while I grumbled about the cold.
I think that life is like that. In our constant search for greener grass, we often miss the flowers—or the winter wonderland—right in front of us.
Every time we focus on what we don’t have we become a little less satisfied with what we do. It doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t dream or reach for something better, but always with an awareness that each moment is a gift from God and one to cherish.
There is purpose in each step we take in our journey to eternity, and because of this, hope glimmers even on our rainiest days.
Storms are an inevitable part of life but as Christians we can know a greater peace because someday He will wipe the tears from our faces, and we will spin around in the glorious rays of the Son.
For now, I am going to join my son and appreciate this moment and prepare for the storm that will arise when I announce it is time to go inside. The beauty in that storm?
Naptime, of course.