A Friday morning. Plenty to do. Chicken still to be pulled from the freezer. School to get started. Laundry to be washed, moved, folded, repeat. A baby to get settled for a nap.
And then… a snowflake.
“Momma! Momma! Can we go outside?”
“Right now? Oh, guys …”
My plans! And then, the clean up. The muddy boots, the wet jackets, the puddles on the floor. I’ll be playing catch up all day …
Outside, the flakes multiplied just enough that bits of grass began to disappear under little patches of white.
“Sure. Go grab your boots.”
Not a big snowfall. Nothing of record; barely a scattering of flakes. And yet, for a blissful half hour we felt the flakes on our eyelashes, pressed our feet into the wet, muddy ground, and watched the naked trees morph into something else entirely in our familiar, backyard paradise.
Inside, the laundry was still waiting. The chicken was, too. We collapsed, happy and cold, into the couch and leafed through a book about the life of Laura Ingalls Wilder.
It was a good morning.
I’m glad I said yes.
I’ve been saying yes a little more lately. It’s hard for this structure-loving, non-spontaneous person to do, but I haven’t regretted it yet.
I used to be so much more willing and able to just go with the flow. Parenting a special needs child has given me a healthy dose of respect for ritual and routine– but I need to remember to open my hands and embrace the good things God showers us with in the moment, even if they don’t come on schedule.