Why do we try so hard? Why do we spend so much? Why do we want the biggest, the best, the most lavish, the exciting? Is this what makes life meaningful? Does bigger mean better? Is this what makes us happy? Does our striving and exerting and doing and spending fulfill us? Is this what leads to an inner peace and calm in our lives? No, life’s meaning comes in the simple things, the ordinary, and even the mundane.
My oldest daughter just got married. A couple days before the wedding, a friend asked her if she wished she had waited to get married so that she could’ve saved more money to have the wedding of her dreams. She said, “No, this is the wedding of my dreams.” And it was. It was beautiful. But, do you know what made it beautiful? It was the simple things. Working together with the bridesmaids and groomsmen to decorate the church with tulle, tissue paper, and a few Christmas lights. Seeing the blue moon rise during the rehearsal dinner picnic. The bridesmaids’ prayer circle before the processional began. The little white flowers a bridesmaid added to my daughter’s hair. The tears of the groom and groomsmen. Singing “O Lord, you’re beautiful…” in the middle of it all. The paper flower that fell during the ceremony and landed on my disabled nephew’s shoulder, like it belonged there all along. Hugs and laughter. Togetherness. It wasn’t the things, it was the people.
Now that wedding season is over, it’s time for a vacation; one that I’ve been looking forward to all summer. Is this vacation an expensive hotel, or a lavish resort, with fancy restaurants and theme parks nearby? No, it’s a free farmhouse where we go each year to spend time with a special brother-in-law and his children. It’s a place to enjoy the simple things. Sitting in the corner chair with the footstool pulled up close, paper and pen and books sitting on a side table, staring out at the rolling hills of piedmont Virginia and breathing deeply. Slipping water shoes on our feet and going on a river walk: feeling the tug of the current slipping past our knees, finding a smooth green stone, listening to the birds talk, climbing on a wind-and-water-worn old oak tree lying on its side in the middle of the Rapidan. Seeing the smiles of my nephew as he is dipped in the coolness of the pool and the laughter of our friend as he aims the spraying hose. Zinnias brightening a run-down shed.Playing Sorry at the dining room table. Watching The Sound of Music on the old TV for the hundredth time. Eating grilled chicken in the picnic pavilion. Resting. Relaxing. Being. It’s not the things, it’s the slowing down to enjoy the moments, the creation, the relationships.
Once we arrive back home, it will be time to get ready for fall schedules: preparing another daughter to leave for college, prepping my youngest for 5th grade, setting up music students’ schedules, preparing to teach a few classes at the local co-op. Will life be lost in the rush of daily routines? Will peace be washed away as the tides of work and school rush in? Not if I remember the simple things. The daily touch. Pancakes for breakfast. Sitting around the table, working out a math problem. Helping my daughter make that map for a school project. Reading a book out loud on the couch. Throwing Frisbee in the backyard. Petting the dog. Cleaning windows while listening to my Spotify playlist. And what ties it all up in pretty wrapping paper with a bow is togetherness. It’s not what we do, it’s the people we share it with.
This is life. It’s so simple. Yet so good.
“You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.” Matthew 5:5, The Message
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