The girl with the paint smear on her forehead ran, like some wild child, like someone without a care in the world. Like someone utterly free.
So, her momma turned to see. To see that light in her eyes and the way it shines out through her smile and punctuates her cheeks.
And the boy, he ran too. Like a crazy hooligan, streaking through the hallway, tearing through the kitchen, and all for sheer pleasure. Nothing else.
And that momma of theirs was captivated. She couldn’t stop watching how the fully alive enjoy just living.
She’d read about the dying. What they had to say. How they wished the living ones would just slow down and really feel their lives. She’d watched a dying man express how intensely happy he was when he heard the pitter patter of his little girl’s feet coming down the hall. He said that most people would just think of it as background noise. But, not him. He didn’t have much time left and he knew that those sounds were the most important ones. The most beautiful ones. So, he paid attention.
So, that momma, she tried to pay attention, too. Because she knew she wouldn’t always be around. So, she listened. Just stood still and listened to that laugh and the traipsing of those sock feet on linoleum.
And at the sink she just paused from the dishes and let the sun warm up her face.
And out the window, she noticed how the sun reflected on all the icicles on the evergreen.
And she decided, long ago had decided that the older she got, the younger she’d become. She’d become like a child. Who doesn’t worry about what everybody thinks. And who doesn’t get all scared and anxious about tomorrow. And who just asks honest questions and can’t stop being curious about life. And who runs or paints or builds or writes or dreams for the sheer thrill of doing those things.
Yes, that’s what both the dying and newly just living were teaching her. That life is to be savored. Every ounce. Right down to the last drop.
So, the momma grinned glad and thanked God that He would give her this. All this life to be enjoyed.
