One of my wife’s favorite memories is of the evening she spent eating watermelon and spitting seeds off our front porch with our two boys. That was 28 years ago, when the boys were 7 and 9.
Our lives in the Air Force were nomadic, moving to the next assignment every couple years as I moved up the career ladder. When you move that often, you’re always in a hurry. You only have so much time to make your mark before you move again. We did our best to “make the most” of each new assignment and turned each move into a travel adventure.
So why would eating watermelon make the list of life memories?
Because every now and then you slow down long enough to take in the miracles in a moment.
There are the miracles of things like light and air and gravity. There’s the way the light reflects off things and enters the eye, which signals the brain, which makes sense of it all. The miracle of taste.
Seed spitting presupposes photosynthesis, the miracle of botanical growth, to say nothing of the miracles of farming, food distribution, and supermarkets.
And who can fathom the miracle of a mother’s love, and two rambunctious boys who began as tiny eggs in their mother’s womb?
And how is it they love each other?
Why does something so “simple” give so much joy?
What, after all, is more miraculous than these things that we call “ordinary?” OK, some things may be more spectacular—a lightning strike, a mountain vista—but more miraculous?
When asked by Moses to state his name for the record, God answered, “I am.” Not, “I will be.”
God is in every moment.
Ann Voskamp, in her book 1000 Gifts, asks, “In Christ, don’t we have everlasting existence?”
Shouldn’t we live like we actually believe it?
If we’re immortal, and we are, what are we rushing for?