There's No Pause Button

Today I had a minor procedure done to help with some reflux issues. As a result of the anesthesia, I was not able to drive this afternoon, blessing our family with a midweek break from our activities. From 3pm-7:30pm we were able to snack, complete homework assignments, have dinner and PLAY at an unrushed pace.

As I watched the electricity of ordinary life happening in my backyard my heart smiled. The swinging, biking, sliding, basketball playing, giggling, chasing and ziplining was such a picture of the simple pleasures of healthy, active children.

I decided to get my camera because I have fallen out of the habit of recording the ordinary pleasures of real life. I don't need any more posed pictures of special occasions. I want reminders of the precious, ordinary, unremarkable moments of home life.
I love these dirty, snaggle tooth faces...

but walking around and gettng a picture of the other side of those heads always makes my heart melt. (And the basketball R is clutching? That's real life.)

And so is this.

I was talking to a friend today about how she was coping amidst a difficult season of life change. She shared that the best bit of advice she had been given is that she wouldn't always feel like this--the searing pain would subside, the heavy fog would begin to part.

This led to a discussion of a Beth Moore study we both remembered from a couple of years ago. (I think it was Esther...) I am paraphrasing, but Beth made the point that when women get all tied up in our anxiety we make the mistake of allowing our thought life stop at the moment our worst case scenario occurs--the late night phone call, the diagnosis, etc. She challenged readers to not stop there, but to think about what would come next. There would be a next breath, a next step, a next chapter.

This is the nature of life. It is fluid. It doesn't just 'pause.' Yet when we get tangled up and immobilized by fear we forget that.

This afternoon I was thinking about how this is important to remember in the ordinary blessings of our busy lives as well. We don't get to press pause on the devastating parts of life, but the same holds true for the beautiful chapters. Time waits for no man. It marches on.

So, I resolved to slow down today and intentionally focus on remembering the little details.

The sweet sound of their giggles.
The size of their bikes.
The colorful crayola toothbrushes scattered all over the bathroom counter.
Those skinny little arms doing pushups before bed.
That wild head of hair that cannot be tamed.
The gravelly little seven year old voice that still hasn't mastered the R sound.
The mischievous grin on the face of the Daddy that loves playing with them so much he can't quite bring himself to settle them down for bed.

Because this too shall pass.