After several weeks of travel and book promotion, I enjoyed a weekend at home. Not a lazy weekend, though. This one was jam-packed with so many simple sweet pleasures, I’m still on an emotional high. Here’s a brief rundown:
- A weekend visit with Anne and her boyfriend.
- A Saturday night supper with them, Hiram, and five of Anne’s college-aged cousins (part of the gang that was with us for Labor Day weekend), all hungry for home cooking.
- A game of Pictionary Telephone after supper that had us laughing until we cried and our abs were aching.
- A quick phone visit with our son. He’s been out of the monastery for almost a year, but I’m still filled with wonder and gratitude everytime we chat.
- Two walks, complete with sunny skies and the company of my husband.
But the most unexpected happiness came during Sunday morning worship, when I sat beside the most delightful five-year-old boy. He showed me the new hole in his sock. “I don’t know how it happened,” he confided.
I told him I have the same problem with my socks, and before long, we had bonded. Pretty soon he was sitting on my lap, and when we stood to sing, he hugged my leg. Then somehow, I was holding him, his skinny arms wrapped tight around my neck. I sang and he swayed to the music, both of us giving and receiving more than we expected.
In my younger days, I would have dismissed the moment, and all the delights of the weekend, as ordinary, hardly worthy to be remembered. But now I’m old enough to recognize how precious and rare are such sweet and simple expressions of love.
And I’m old enough to respond to a weekend overflowing with such lovely moments in as I should have all along: with a prayer of thanks, a grateful and humble heart, and an eye trained to watch for and recognize God’s grace in life’s sweet and simple pleasures.
