Today was one of those rare days in life where everything was just right.
The sky was clear, the air was clear and most importantly, my calendar was clear.
For the first time in several months, I didn’t have to be anywhere or prepare for anything or look into pleading eyes and say “Just a minute, just one more minute, let me finish this one thing…”
Every day is its own unique and holy creation and this day seems to have been created just for me. I could do whatever I wanted to do and what I wanted to do was hang out with the little boy with pleading eyes.
We spent the afternoon puttering around in the backyard. While I pulled weeds and cleaned out flower beds, he occupied himself with a big plastic tub filled with water from the hose. Today the big plastic tub was a boiling cauldron and he was making soup. Periodically, I stopped pulling weeds to have a taste. But for the most part, we were involved in parallel play. He made soup, I pulled weeds.
From across the lawn and under the shade of my visor, I stole glances at him. He was engaged in an animated conversation with an imaginary soup patron. Just then, a butterfly floated by and whispered in my ear to inhale deeply and remember this moment – grass and earth, water and boy, a river of sky that sails quietly by on the currents of time never to return again.
All was well with the world today. This moment, this is how it should always be.
I inhaled deep and long, painted a picture of this day in my mind, and then exhaled slowly. I felt as though a warm blanket fresh from the dryer had settled upon my heart.
Linus is wrong. Happiness is not a warm blanket. Contentment is.