This I Believe

Life, our goal-oriented culture would have us believe, is the pursuit of grand moments: vacations, parties, graduations.  In my thirty-three years on the planet, I’ve found the opposite to be true.  The tiny, itty bitty moments are the ones that make my heart explode with joy.  I believe that those moments are the meaning of life.

           
I remember a moment when I was a little girl.  Paul, my little brother and best friend, and I were sprawled on the sofa as my mother read to us about the mythical Monopods from one of the books in the Narnia series.  I remember the scent of Mama’s soap, the giggle in her voice as she read of their quirky habits, the complete sense of stillness and assurance that comes from the steady cadence of a mother’s storytelling voice.

           
I remember a moment in Germany.  Kyle was just a little boy, not older than two.  We were on my bed; he was supposed to be settling down for a nap, and I was supposed to be cleaning or performing some other routine task.   His beautiful little fingers reached up towards the stream of light that had bent its way through the darkened room and he played with it.  Chubby fingers swaying through the untouchable, somehow he summed up the meaning of life in that moment.  A silent philosopher at the age of two.

            
I remember a moment that repeats from time to time.  Alex, fifteen, comes into my room randomly, without warning, and sits at the end of my bed as I try to sleep.  He plays his guitar and talks and talks and talks.  His deepening voice strums steadily on hour after hour as he tells me of friends and plans and himself.   I live for those moments. 

            
I remember Alan’s signature cuddles, and our dog Louis’ chin on my leg as I eat my dinner, and the moment when I fell in love with Will.  I remember opening the notes that my daddy left me when he was to be gone for a week, and dancing alone to my favorite song, and losing myself in a cup of tea and a good book.  I remember my boys covering me with flowers in a hidden meadow in a park, and finding a bird’s nest in a strawberry patch, and three lifetimes of bedtime kisses. 

Somehow the planned vacations and the long strived-for achievements just don’t measure up to a collection of these little moments.  They sit on my soul like so many birds perched on the branch of a tree in springtime.  But they not only inhabit me.  The older I get, the more I realize that these moments are me and the reason for me.  This, I believe.