Faith | Mamahood | Reflection

Missing Our Moments Together

What strikes me about this picture is that it captures the intersection of two lifetimes. It’s a beautiful, if inevitably too brief, overlapping of life’s seasons. These two stunning girls share this moment in time, and I feel insanely blessed to be here to see it.

If the meeting of two lives could be contained in one snapshot — one moment frozen in time — what would it look like for you?

For me, probably for the rest of my life, it will always look like this. My granny and my little girl, looking out the kitchen window. Laughing together and loving each other.

Inside this little kitchen is where so many of the best memories were made. It’s where gentle but practiced hands baked Sunday dinners after church, where the whole family played games together, where the table itself lasted through the decades, because every generation had touched it, and it would’ve hurt too much to let it go.

The kitchen is where everyone gathered. The grown-ups for cards. The ladies for coffee. The kids in the ‘70s, for cookie bars after school and before a pick-up ball game in the street. (It was *the* house and *the* kitchen to be in.) We grandkids, in the ‘90s, gathered there in the summer to admire the fireflies we’d just collected in the quiet neighborhood streets. In the kitchen we stirred up hot apple cider in the colder months, before putting in a movie, cozying up in our pajamas, and snuggling up tight next to our grandparents.

I dream of my beloved grandpa, who’s been with Jesus for some time now. But in my dreams, he’s right there in that kitchen, his eyes twinkling and his smile as sweet as the chocolate my grandma’s popping in her mouth beside him. And in both my dreams and my memories, he’s ornery; he’s teasing and smooching his sweetheart, the woman he’s loved since his teenage years, the woman he sweetly refers to as “Mom.”

The kitchen is still the room full of magic in that little house.

Right now, while my husband, kids, and I are distancing inside our own home, mostly to keep these two generations safe, we miss that little kitchen. I picture Granny standing there, the window open, a soft breeze blowing through, as she thinks back on these memories.

Oh, how I long to sit down with her at that table again. My heart aches when I think of all the visits we took for granted. But it almost bursts with joy when I think of all we’ll do together in that kitchen when life looks like it used to.

I eagerly await that day. And I can’t wait to capture another precious moment, just like this one, to keep with me for always.

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