My sister made me a simple, but decadent sandwich.
Toast wearing so much golden butter served as the envelope carrying a sweet savory middle: brie cheese and freshly made blackberry jam.
When I first sunk my teeth past the warm toast, sweet, but tart blackberries and creamy brie cheese surprised me. They suited each other well. The sandwich was very rich so it was a bit hard to finish, but very satisfying too.
The goodness was the middle.
Later we sliced into miniature molten lava cakes and more flavors flowed straight from the middle.
We couldn't eat much savoring a couple of rich bites. I chose my bites from the middle. The middle where the chocolate soaks the cake. The best part.
Most of life seems to be found in the middle.
Like the toast that brackets or holds the sandwich's contents, major life events or victories don't make up most of our days. Our days are made mostly in the middle.
It's usually what we make of the middle moments, the middle of a day, the middle of all that is mundane that makes us and makes a life sweet and gives it's best content.
Do I take time to taste the middle moments, really?
Pause and lean into them?
Learn from them?
Pausing yesterday, putting down the stack of mail and bills. I feel baby boy's arms lightly twist around my legs and his head lean against my knee. His touch, barely there yet deeply there all at the same time.
He quietly toddled off, but I lowered myself onto the kitchen floor and say, "Baby Mac, please come back." His gray green eyes glisten happy as he walked back and drops gently on my lap.
My dad's eyebrows arched up as he related an interesting historical story. He's always been filled with lots of knowledge about lots of things. Especially history and numbers. This time I really listened to the story. I left the house with the story rolling over in my mind. Amazed by it.
This morning I padded up wood floors. Everyone was ready, and it was time to get my husband up. He likes to sleep til he absolutely has to get up and gets ready within fifteen minutes.
He needed to get up now...
I usually go and tap him and tell him, "You must get up if you don't want to be late."
I pause in the room, daylight barely opening it's eyes over the earth. I can't see well, but I decide to slide in the warm sheets and find myself right in the middle. The middle of his arms.
For just a couple moments I rest my head on his shoulder and stop rushing. I don't say, "You must get up." Instead we pray.
Life isn't made up in what we do every once in a while, or the place we arrive. Of course that's part of it. But the meat of life is made somewhere in the every day, minute by minutes. Tucked into all the middle of our moments.
|My baby boy in the middle of sister love|