I think of the child playing in the sand, a few feet from the ocean wave’s reach. The child whose fingers form the hourglass for sand and minutes to trickle through. The child who is caught unaware by the ocean’s greedy grasp for more beach front. The child who is sent tumbling, sputtering, splashing by the rogue wave.
That’s the way delight washes over me these days. I am unsuspecting. Unaware. And then it engulfs me. Knocks me off balance.
Sometimes it’s the nothing-short-of-infectious cluster of chortles that effervesce from Little Friend’s belly.
Sometimes it’s the hopeful eyes that lock onto mine: “Mama, you be Piglet, and I’ll be Pooh.”
Sometimes it’s the way my body rocks a bit in bed when Little One launches him/herself against the sides of the womb-world.
Sometimes it’s the promise of snowflakes from a sky that has been nothing but stingy with white gifts this year.
Sometimes it’s the smell of dinner–butter, onions, spice–that creeps through the whole house.
Sometimes it’s a blog comment that makes me want to reach through my computer screen to hug the fingers that typed the words.
I’m so grateful for the simple power of delight. How it can knock me out of my nesting craze, worry over dinner, or rush to make it to the evening meeting after dinner has been made-carted to table-carted away from table-stacked on kitchen counter-migrated to dishwasher for a do-over tomorrow.
I’m so grateful that delight is more powerful than worry. More powerful than doubt. More powerful than the “to do” list.
Delight is a sneaky surprise.
And it’s delightful every time it bowls me over.
This post is inspired by and shared with Gypsy Mama’s Five Minute Friday.