Today was one of those epically tumultuous days complete with tears and tantrums and bruises – both theirs, and mine.
It was the kind of day smeared with regret.
And as we’re walking out of Costco – where faith in humanity goes to die – I look over and see an older man gripping his economy pack of Brawny paper towels, watching us wade out of the warehouse with fussy babies in tow.
There’s pain on his face, not annoyance but longing.
As he gave me a knowing nod, it became clear this man knew what I have yet to learn: these days are short, a small stroke in the painting that will one day be my life’s lasting work.
Control and order and some semblance of existence will soon seep back into our lives, and a new chapter will unfold.
I scooped up that baby girl, tears fresh on her sauce stained face, and we petted a tree and counted airplanes and somehow mustered a few giggles.
“The great thing, if one can,” C. S. Lewis writes, “is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own,’ or ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life — the life God is sending one day by day.”
So grateful for this kind reminder and the presence to grasp the moment. I hope it encourages you, dear friend!
