The Beauty of Right Now
As I sit here writing this, I’m putting my son to bed. If I’m being honest, sometimes I feel a tug of anxiety when bedtime stretches longer than I’d planned and I still have a laundry list of things waiting for me. Then, just as I’m about to get impatient, my little one whispers, “I love you, Mama,” or “Today was so much fun,” and asks for one more hug and kiss. And just like that, I’m snapped back into reality.
Because here’s the truth—not to sound dramatic—this very moment will never come again. This is the last time I’ll ever have with him, exactly as he is right now. The same thoughts go through my mind for my daughter, who curls up against me as I nurse her before bed, trying to memorize her face. These little routines aren’t interruptions; they’re gifts. Gentle nudges from God to slow down, to breathe, to cherish it all. See, I’m a “doer.” I feel best when productive, but the Lord has been working on my heart for some time about what productive means and that, to honor Him fully, I must also obey His call to rest… in the beauty of right now.
My son and daughter are almost exactly two years apart—he turns three this Sunday and she turns one next Friday. Having their birthdays so close together somehow makes the passing of years hit even harder. It feels like I’m celebrating one milestone only to turn right around and celebrate another, all while my heart is still trying to catch up. (And as if God wanted to add a little humor into the mix, Seger actually shares a birthday with my mom, and Linden almost shared hers with my dad—except she decided not to wait for the hospital, let alone Papa’s actual birthday!)
When I stop and think about how fast time has gone, my stomach almost hurts. I do my best to hold onto memories through journaling about the giggles, the silly phrases, dancing in the kitchen, sun-filled afternoons at the park, little hands discovering bugs outside, the hugs and kisses that feel like treasures. The truth is—I can’t hold on forever. Scripture reminds us that life is like a vapor (James 4:14) — here for a moment and then gone. Yet, instead of causing panic, God challenges me to view it as an invitation to trust. That’s where faith keeps me steady. Why should I worry about what’s ahead or grieve over never experiencing certain moments with my children again when God is the giver of every good and perfect gift (James 1:17)? He won’t leave me with less. Time is short, yes, but it is also purposeful. The seasons may change, but His goodness does not. He only has more memories waiting for me—more moments of growth, laughter, and love with my children as they become who He created them to be.
So, I’ll remind myself to slow down—in the chaos and the quiet and trust the One who gave me these gifts will keep making each chapter more beautiful than the last.