It was the day after New Year's Day. And the alarm sounded at six. By six-thirty, Lonny was out the door. It was hard to see him go. He'd been home for a week, and Christmas vacation was over.
The boys and I shuffled through the morning stuff. Time to return to some kind of routine. Then the phone rang.
"Morning," Lonny said when I answered.
"Hey, how is your first morning back?"
"Quiet," he said. "When I got here, the parking lot was empty. Guess today is a holiday. I caught up on a few small things, but now I'm coming home."
I knew that he was smiling. Big. Awesome. Wonderful. One more day.
"We should do something fun," I said. "While the big boys are still home from school."
"Ice skating?" he said.
Two hours later, we were at the rink.
We laced, bundled, and hit the ice.
And as I watched my sons skate, the joy of togetherness all over them, cheeks rosy red from the cold, I was grateful for the kindness of God. For a father who loves to delight His children. For One who knows the desires of our hearts.
And for the sweet, unexpected blessing of just one more day.