The Magic of Ordinary
There are a handful of moments in my life that feel paramount—giving birth, my wedding day, crossing the finish line of my first (and likely last) marathon, swimming with dolphins. These mountain-top moments are precious and thrilling and rare. Like shooting stars or double rainbows, some of us are lucky enough to experience a dozen of these moments sprinkled throughout a life time.
But when I get nostalgic, it’s rarely about the big stuff. It’s almost always about the ordinary.
When I reminiscence on my childhood, I remember holidays with my grandparents. My grandma sitting at the table, chopping vegetables and my mom baking fresh, heaping loaves of zucchini bread. I remember football games in the backyard and my dad in his fuzzy Christmas robe drinking coffee. I hear the sounds of Christmas carols echoing across the house as my mom gets lost at the piano. She always plays more in the winter.
I remember hot summer runs in the late evenings and night swims in cold water while my feet are still pulsating from the impact. I remember running through sprinklers and the rainbow that danced in the sunlight between water droplets. I think about sleepovers and People Magazine quizzes and blue, sparkly toenail polish. Photoshoots taken on disposable cameras and weekend Blockbuster runs. Watching The Santa Claus on VHS for the third time in one week. (Have I aged myself yet?) Rocking in the hammock at my grandparents’ lake house, and card games and afternoon cereal at their dining table.
When I think about my life in replay, I think of the thousands of everyday moments I’ve lived, eating meals and laughing with friends, years and years of early morning cross country practice, evenings with Matt on the leather sofa, Friday night movies sprawled out on a picnic blanket in the living room, sharing bread and juice with my boys to commemorate the sabbath.
In a playback loop of our own lives, there’s rarely the epic score that leads to one life changing scene. It’s more like a compilation of small, insignificant moments
I think ordinary gets a bad rap sometimes because we are all secretly chasing our own mountain-top moments—the job promotion or book deal, x number of followers, paying off debt, big family vacations. We long for these monumental moments because we think of life like a movie sequence, wondering when we’ll reach the climax of our own stories. But in a playback loop of our own lives, there’s rarely the epic score that leads to one life changing scene. It’s more like a compilation of small, insignificant moments: the daily grind, weekly rhythms, frozen waffles and grocery lists and doctor’s appointments.
It’s conversations we have with the stranger in the checkout line and choosing to get vulnerable with our life group. It’s bedtime prayers with our kids and baking cookies on a random Tuesday. It’s the first cool breeze of fall as we open the front door and let the air hit our face. It’s tiny answered prayers and Sunday morning worship services, skinned up little boys’ knees and Halloween costumes worn all month long. It’s sick snuggles with babies on the couch and messy kitchen sinks and lots of I’m sorry’s and I love you’s.
And it’s why the ordinary moments will always be the ones I covet in this life. Because we can waste years and years grappling for something picture worthy, but we will miss a million good night kisses and cotton candy sunsets in the process.
The truth is, I may never get the book deal or win the race. Our financial situation may never drastically change and our kids may grow up to work very average jobs. I might never visit Greece or grow a successful vegetable garden or overcome my fear of public speaking. Maybe I will do some of those things. Who knows?
What I do know is this—you won’t catch me missing out on the magic of ordinary, every day life because I’m too busy chasing a future that was never promised. We get today and we have to decide if that is enough.
