You know, once in a while, you're granted a perfect day.
And I guess there are different perfects. Sometimes it's the perfect where you want to shout in joy.
Other times, it is as though you are wrapped in peace, in quiet gratitude, joy and awareness.
Such was Sunday.
The morning dawned with sunshine.
We got to church, and I found my heart full -- from reflections, from the text of the music, from the beauty of faith, from sharing with people I love and the community I feel there.
I came home and shared a precious moment with one of my sons -- one of those moments you hold close in your heart, and all you can feel is gratitude and peace and joy and faith, brimming, and budding. We both sat in the school room in tears.
After making scratch spaghetti sauce, I sat on the deck in the sunshine and eventually, about 5:00, we headed to the cemetery to walk. It was quiet, the sun's lengthening shadows stretching across the lawns, shining brightly on some gravestones and casting shadows elsewhere.
And it was there.
I walked along, watching Benji kick a ball all the way around the mile loop, alternately throwing it up into the air. Sometimes it came my way and I kicked it and he'd go running.
I watched Isaiah, swinging the arrow that he found up the canyon the other day, walking up on ledges, singing and making noises to himself.
I watched Mia push the stroller, regardless of whether Claire was in it. She'd get in briefly, but then get out to stroll again, holding my hand, and I held her for a brief spell, too.
I was caught up in the beauty of it -- of the quiet, the evening, the way everyone was just enjoying time together, and it was so peaceful. I don't know how else to articulate it.
I guess I felt aware of time.
The beauty of that glorious hour.
And as I walked with them,
it felt quiet in my heart.
And I keep looking at this photo that we asked someone to take of us and feeling happy:
these two boys who are fast gaining on me, and soon I'll be the one that's shorter,
these boys that now offer me glimpses of the men they're going to become.
And it's crazy. And also awesome.
I don't know how else to say it except that I can sense their masculinity.
And then there's the small one, ever the ham. Her zest for life is contagious, and this photo of her is absolutely perfect.
And on my left, there's this beautiful girl.
I keep looking at her smile here -- so genuine and full.
She's such a beautiful person.
We came home and had warm spaghetti and then read The Lord of the Rings (we're on the third and final book -- almost there!).
After I'd finished cleaning up, this kid came upstairs and sat down next to me on the couch. We admired his toothless mouth,
and then cracked ourselves up (literally bursting out loud laughing) as we took funny selfies.
And after they were in bed, I got to talk with an old friend, read, and write for a bit.
My house was quiet, candles and low lights and beautiful music.
Life is a series of things you tuck away in your heart,
and I'm grateful for these little bits and pieces I'm collecting.