Life is a series of moments. A conglomeration of hundreds of little things all shoved together to define itself as one day in my life. And all those days stacked end-to-end will be the whole of my life. How many years will I have to live? How long will that life be? What will I do with my time here?
And even more importantly, what will I do with all those little moments shoved together to make that life I am calling my own?
So many things I do that don't seem that important. Ballet buns. Making lunch. Organizing closets. Sorting laundry. New shoes. Lost stuffed animals. Defrosting dinner. Making the bed. A movie as a family. Farm chores. Cleaning. Disciplining. Listening. Loving.A quick kiss. A hug. A reprimand.
On and on the moments go ...
I am not sure when life started just flying by. It seems to me that it took forever for me to become an adult, and now that I am one, it feels like it is going by way too fast. I yearned for children for a decade. And now I have four of them and they are nearly half-way raised.
I know all this. And yet I find myself frustrated so often ... Why can I not savor the moments better than I do? Why do I get so frustrated by the lost winter gloves and disorganized schoolwork and messy rooms? How do I lose my cool so easily? Why can't I see the big picture clearly? How does it so quickly get sucked out of my perspective? I want so much for my children to look back and say: "My mom, she was present in the moments."
And while I am for some of them, for so many, I feel like I forget the big picture. The point of those little moments.
To feel love. To give love. To share Christ's love.
In our entire life.
In all the moments.
Writing these words so that I can try to remember,