Mundane moments - let me tell you.
It’s 9:53 on a Thursday morning and there’s Play-Doh under my fingernails. I’m only two hours into an eight-hour day of babysitting, and already my little buddy and I have watched a couple episodes of Paw Patrol, gone outside to check for worms after the rain, and lined up all his train cars on the track. Now the kitchen table is covered in little yellow plastic jars and we’re taking turns operating a toy spaghetti maker (my turn is when he’s tired of turning the handle). He’s one of those little ones who mixes all the colors together. I pull bits of putty from underneath my nails that were once blue, now shot through with five other colors, and can’t help thinking that it’s nice to not worry about keeping it all separate sometimes. Sometimes it can be fun to see what new color you make when you stop caring about staying inside the lines.
It’s 2:39 on a Wednesday afternoon and there’s dirt embedded in the lines on my palm. The three of us - my brother, my boyfriend, and me - have hiked up a dried creekbed just after a storm, eager to see what awaited us at the top. A beautiful view, a waterfall, the source of the stream? Turns out there was no top. Just trees and more trees. Far from disappointed, we’re exhilarated. We chased a trail until it ended and now we can say we know what was there. Not to mention the hundreds of jokes we made (let’s be honest, the two of them made) along the way. We pile into the car, our shoes and hands caked with mud, a leaf bug hitching a ride on my brother’s T-shirt. Grant nods off, G3 picks the music, I drive. The sunshine coming through the sunroof feels like contentment.
It’s probably 4 something on a Saturday afternoon and the taste of salt is on my tongue. I just got smacked in the face by a wave trying to follow my boyfriend into deeper water, Grant slipped in the sand when he tried to scoop me back up, and now we can’t stop laughing. Our phones are way back under the umbrella, watching the storm roll across the sky in the distance is how I’ve started telling time. We sit side by side in the Atlantic, and I see newly familiar faces starting across the sand towards us. We watch fish flip out of the water, taunting pelicans who swoop just above the sea, searching. It starts to rain a little later, but it doesn’t storm so it doesn’t stop us from adventuring across bridges with new friends, crazy schemes and endless laughter.
Time and space is a weird thing when you start thinking through the odds of it all. The fact that we would be here, stepping into these stories with these same people at our sides. More often than not, it makes me feel lucky. It makes me glad my God is my God, because it doesn’t get any clearer that He makes the mundane moments absolutely marvelous.
Mundane moments. They’re becoming my favorite kind. If you’ve talked to me lately about how I’ll be spending the next month taking a class in Washington, D.C. as part of the James Madison Fellowship program, I’m sure you’ve heard me say that I’m excited. All of the days, I want that to be true, but some days here lately, it just isn’t. The first month of summer has gone by quickly, and I want it to slow down, I want to spend more time soaking in the small moments that fill me up so well but seem to flit by so quickly.
The thing about our God, though, is that He finds marvelous in the mundane and stretches the strength He lends us in the small moments no matter where I go. He proved this about Himself time and time again in the first month of my summer - I can’t wait to see what He does in the second.
Coffee, cooking, selfies, CMA Fest - a few more of the little moments in between
Stay tuned for more from my trip to Washington, D.C. in this space soon! Check out jamesmadison.gov for more information about what my fellowship is and why it matters.