Lunchtime - Sweetness of Days

I stand at the counter, cutting peanut butter sandwiches into wedges and oranges into rings, and I remember a day, almost two years ago…

I’d sat, sun pressing my shoulders, and looked at my boy. The grass was August-crisp under us, and we shared lunch outside, like we had a thousand times before. So much was the same. His green eyes. The blue sky. Ham sandwiches and fresh fruit and cookies gone melty and soft from the sun.

But that day was different. We’d purchased sack lunches from a cafeteria, and Lonny and I were about to leave our son at college for the very first time.

I wonder, as I stand and make lunch at home today, why that memory is so strong. The window above my sink holds the gray of cold, spring rain. I can hear the wind whispering under the porch door. The day is nothing like that hard, hot, August afternoon.

But maybe…

Maybe it’s because there are three little blond boys sitting in the dining room, waiting for their lunches. Maybe because I look through the arched doorway and see their small frames, and I hear their childish voices. Maybe because one chair is empty, mine, and soon we’ll be praying and talking and laughing and sharing.

Maybe it’s because I know how fast time goes, how quickly children grow, and I want to cherish these days, the simple pleasures wrapped in everyday-nothingness.

The sweet days, everyday-days that mean the most to me.

Thank you, God for the quiet blessing of ordinary days…