For a few moments, I felt complete. As I lay there, snuggled up behind my daughters’ small and tiny body, I could feel her breath slowly rise up and down as she drifted off into deep sleep. The warmth from the outside sunshine peeked slightly through her window above, showering us with such comfort. I listened to the hum of the Kitchenaid turning in the kitchen as my husband prepared dough for tonight’s meal. The easy melody of Mumford and Sons accompanied varied chops of the knife on the cutting board. The wind chimes from our backyard played a beautiful melody as it danced in the wind. Our house was moving and making beautiful music. I sat up and listened. I tried to memorize the moment and the sounds. I let it soak into my heart, body, and soul. This is what I live for, I realized. These small, inconspicuous, fleeting moments.
This is the heartbeat of our lives. This is the melody that plays in our home. I love our song.
My eyes fill up with tears as I write this. I have often pondered the question, “If I had one day left to live, what would I do?”.
I would do this. I would live my life the way we have been on lazy, long days for years. No stressful agenda, no big plans. Just living out our passions, be it as boring as cooking a meal for dinner and putting our little girl down for an afternoon nap.
These moments make me feel alive, blessed, and filled with peace.
Do you feel a steady rhythm in your life? What is the melody that plays in your home? Do you ever lie down in moments of peace and listen to it, allowing it to soak into your heart? Will you be able to look back on it and replay it in your head over and over?
Home truly is where the heart is. So often I try to hide our mess. There is so much beauty hidden in our mess.When I look at these pictures, I see life being lived. My daughter covered with pen and her mischievous little face as she tries to open something she isn’t supposed to be opening. Our living room, covered with books, blocks, chalk, and a sippy cup. Our home is being lived in. Sure, I see wear and tear on our couch and our wood floors. I get tired of picking up socks. However, something beautiful is happening in all the mess. Memories are being made, life is being created, and our home is being used in a magnificent way. Isn’t that what really matters?