Somedays are idyllic. Somedays it seems like all the elements in the world line up together for just a few moments to provide you a spot of heaven in your daily existence and your inner Anne of Green Gables seeps out from your soul as you gaze at the sky and whisper “God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.” Somedays all this beauty and perfection is all laid out in front of you and you almost miss it.
Sunday afternoons are our time for napping, reading, and curling up on the couch to eat pizza and watch The Office. I look forward to this time starting Monday morning. Last week as we partook in this ritual of rest I heard the metal steps leading up to our front door rattle. A few seconds later the little face of my sweet 5-year-old neighbor at the door. “Do you want to come play chalk with me? I’m making butterflies and hopscotch and it will be so fun!” I can’t resist her, she’s got this eager smile and joyful enthusiasm that is nearly impossible to deny. So I put Netflix on pause and went out to the sidewalk to play chalk.
As I stepped into the autumn afternoon and sat down with chalk in hand the day was at its peak. Fall has come to our little mountain town. It arrived right on time – the day the calendar announced it the temperature dropped twenty degrees and the wind picked up and all the orange and yellow leaves began to swirl and spin. I turn the seat warmer on in the mornings and the evenings are perfect for a hot drink and a cozy blanket. But the afternoons are pure glory. The morning chill is melted by the gentle warmth, the blusters of evening are at bay for a few moments, the ground smells fresh and the crunchy leaves rest on the still-green grass.
I took up a piece of pink, sparkly chalk. The grainy texture felt soft in my hand and I watched as its color was transferred to the ground and to my fingers. The world was so quiet, everyone seemed to be at rest. I heard the scrape of our chalk pieces against the ground and nothing else. Our butterfly family grew and conversed and we giggled and colored. Hopscotch squares were formed and we skipped and jumped across it, our barefoot toes making contact with the cement as the chalk rubbed and smeared. We tried going at the same time. We tried going backwards. We laughed.
It was only fifteen minutes or less that we played. I almost said no. I almost stayed inside and I almost missed this moment. I said yes instead. I gave up little and gained so much. It was a small moment, one that won’t be repeated but similar to the thousands I walk past each day.
I think I’ll say yes again tomorrow.