These are our days.
The days when our babies are young and we are too. The days when they tuck in the nest of our arms and perch on our hips because they can't fly on their own just yet. One day, Lord willing, they'll be grown and we'll be gray(er) with eyes that ripple with the current of the memories the days we're living now. We'll remember these days when everything we did took three times as long. When we had to make sure the baby slept and the toddler had a full belly.
This week we spent a day in Newport, KY. I know these pictures make it look like we just drove around eating popsicles and ice cream but that's only because it's pretty much exactly what we did.
Once they're grown, we won't spend the amount of concentrated time together like we do now. Each day is another log entry into a book that will soon be shelved; perhaps opened and fondly poured over in memory, but never lived again. And, more and more I keep thinking of a time that's fast approaching when they'll have problems that can't be solved with simple things like naps, orange popsicles and comfort from mom and dad. Needless to say, I'm leaning hard into the uncomplicated-ness of their little (but so important!) lives.
Who can know, except Jesus, what our future will hold? But for now, the God who wrote--and is writing!--the grand sweeping histories of all the world decided this: that our individual narratives would meld and mingle in such a way that you can't read one without the other.
Whatever our story becomes or wherever it take us, I'll always be thankful for this part. The chapters when they were small and we were tired and all of us couldn't remember being happier.