It was one of those glorious late summer mornings.
The sun had risen late and bursting with color. The air was cool… cool enough, in fact, to usher in a mid-morning fog that drowned out even the brightest of the suns rays.
And I thought, we need to be outside.
So the pickle and I, still in our PJ’s, threw on shoes and tiptoed out the door over dew-heavy grass and across the road to our neighbor’s long driveway.
Where she took off in a sprint.
I drank deep the damp morning air, remembering the first days of school and fog on the schoolbus windows.
As we walked, or ran or skipped or danced, up the long driveway, sandwiched on either side by fields of tall grass and rows of evergreen trees, we stopped. To stand both in awe and delight.
There, patchworked within the squares of the fence, were tiny spiderwebs woven in perfect spirals. Sparkling with a thousand miniature drops of dew. Some hung heavy in the fog. Others stood strong still, blowing in the gentle breeze and shining like a thousand little diamonds.
The Pickle was amazed! Although not enough to touch one.
And we walked on with her constantly running along the fence pointing them out.
“There’s one, Mommy! And look, another one! Oh, Mommy, that’s a BIG one!”
And it wasn’t so much the spiderwebs or our conversation about how beautiful God made the world or the lesson on dew and fog.
It was the fact that we hadn’t done this in a very long time. Just walked.
It was the fact that I left my phone at home- to remember the pictures etched in my memory instead of on my memory card.
It was the quiet morning and the restless chatter of the three-year-old next to me who told me about her fear of spiders and called out for the cows and pointed out how tall the trees were and played I-spy and said, “watch me run, Mommy!”
And I remembered just how much I loved this. And needed this. And how much she needed this.
We walked and talked about life and nature and God. And all around us the spiderwebs sparkled like her eyes in the early morning fog. And for a moment I didn’t want my phone or the dishes or a soft place on the couch or a red shopping cart.
I didn’t want to be anywhere but right there.
How quickly I forget just how much life is lost when I am so distracted by busyness.
How quickly I forget to throw off everything that hinders and holds back and brings worry… and instead to breathe deep and take time to listen. Both to the beauty around me, and to the little voice beside me.
I forget that side by side is often so much more meaningful and memorable than anything I could conjure up in a classroom or from Pinterest.
I forget that my childhood was the most beautiful when it had nothing to do with a phone or a video game or a TV or a vehicle. But just my own two feet, a place to run, and a pair of open eyes.
Why would I want any different for her? Why would I deny her these moments of savoring and falling in love with the world God gave us? How could I, when she was so clearly made for this.
For long morning walks.
And organic, bubbling conversation.
And fog. And dew. And Mommy. And trees.