Best Part of the Day

I woke to the sound of tiny footfalls, the hushed shuffle of footie pajamas on our hardwood floor. A minute later there were small, warm hands on my cheeks.

“Mama, can I come up?”

I reached down and lifted Isaiah. He curled his legs and settled to a warm huddle between Lonny and me. Before long, I could hear his breath, the soft, even rhythm of sleep. Lonny embraced his son and extended his arms to me. I wriggled in and watched a sliver of gray appear between the heavy panels of the bedroom drapes.

And for a moment, our world was still and good and perfectly at peace. I was grateful for family and home and marriage. I was grateful for God who sometimes comes so near that I feel that I can reach out and touch Him with my hands. I was grateful for simple moments that are significant, strong and become staples in our busy, too-fast lives.

The best part of the day happened before the day even began.