Sometimes, in the middle of all the work of life, I inwardly stop. I notice the speed at which life is moving, almost hear the seconds ticking away, the hours slipping past. It makes me so deeply thankful for the little gifts of each day — things that are really not so “little”, after all. (A husband I love and admire? Three children who are healthy and precious? Not so “little”.)
It also makes my heart hurt. Makes me want to clench my fist a bit tighter, in the hopes that the sands of time might get trapped for just a minute more.
But the inevitable passing of time isn’t meant to make us get stingier, more close-fisted, screeching on the brakes, resentful of each ticking second. No, learning to number our days is a wake up call: Turn your heart to wisdom. Keep eternity ever before you.
For me, right now? It means: Every day with this child is precious — and not just because childhood is fleeting, but because eternity is a reality they must be prepared to face.
Teach us to number our days — not so we can revel a bit more in the warm fuzzies, so we can take more pictures (although being thankful is so often aided by those pauses). Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
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Moments I’m cherishing:
waking up to two little bed partners, the sun kissing chubby cheeks and rosy lips
my pudgy-armed baby girl
brothers who live almost every single minute in togetherness
first independent trip down the slide
an oldest brother who gets his siblings situated in front of Curious George, so Mama can rest
a little girl who always says yes when asked, “Do you want a hug?”
and a repost from this past January — a photo that left a lump in my throat when I saw it last night. Two boys, proudly showing me their first independently built snowman. This day in their little lives will never be repeated, but how thankful I am to have been there to cheer and applaud them. They are so precious.
