It's not quite as dark when I arrive home from work these days. The field behind our house is bathed in hues of pink and purple. The clothes line stands bare, beams stretched wide like arms waiting patiently to embrace its work. The garden boxes are groaning under the weight of weeds, desperate to be cleaned up and to birth new life.
These are the final days of playing games in warmth of the fireplace glow, snuggling under quilts stitched with love, and the coziness of flannel pajamas. The quiet winter evenings will soon give way to longer days marked by the boisterous chirps of spring and the kaleidoscope of colors bursting forth.
I am not ready to let go, so I cling tightly to soft music that washes over us during dinner, the conversations about middle school days and college days and work days. The Light of Life still burns brightly on our table as we read His story.
The music continues, ushering in our nightly routine of study. He pours over the business books while she works through The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and I think long on the spiritual journey of a past President.
Sometime during the evening, I drink in the sound of piano keys playing the same tune again and again. I pray for this gift to grow, thankful for her eagerness to use it for His glory.
I soak up the mornings dark when he reaches for my hands and says, "Are you ready to pray?" I listen intently as his voice changes before the throne of grace and I choke out whispers in agreement.
I wonder if I will just pool into tears at the beauty of these sacred moments.
Then laundry and dishes demand attention. Floors need sweeping and surfaces need cleaning. Bills have to be paid and apologies have to be spoken. Real life invades hard, splintering the image of the perfect home I have conjured in my mind.
But in those last moments of consciousness, after we've kissed goodnight and declared our love, I smile at the memory of the day He made and know that it was good.