"If you think of it, will you grab my Sunday school lesson plans for March? In case I forget? They're in the classroom. You'll need someone to unlock the door," I asked as Lonny gathered his things.
Lonny was heading to church. It was the last Upwards basketball game Saturday. He coached two teams. And it was pizza party day, too. It would be wild.
My husband nodded, gathered two boys in red and black uniforms, and rushed out the door.
I collected a few more boys and arrived later. Just before the first game, I saw our pastor and remembered my materials. He unlocked the classroom door. I slid the papers into my bag.
And the day was full.
I saw Lonny, two games, two pizza parties, and hours later. He was deep in a throng of children, moving toward the stairs, for Samuel's basketball game.
And from his hand dangled keys.
"I'll grab your materials," he said as we passed. "On the way."
"Oh," I said. "I've got them." I patted my bag.
Lonny smiled and nodded. Then he was off. To return the keys. To head upstairs to watch the afternoon's last game.
And my heart swelled with love for this man.
It was a simple thing, for him to remember my need. Something small. But he'd been busy. Full. His mind and heart and time had been pulled in a hundred different ways.
But he remembered.
What a wonderful thing. When loving someone, when being loved, looks like a lifetime of small, thoughtful, care-giving things, churned and molded into ordinary days.
I found two sons, bought popcorn, and took a seat next to Lonny in the gym.
While the players were being announced, I whispered in his ear. "Thanks," I said.
"For what?" he asked.
"For a lifetime of little things."
With every burden I have carried
With every joy it's understood
Life with you is half as hard
And twice as good
"Twice as Good" by Sara Groves
From FIREFLIES AND SONGS