Sometimes, but just for a moment, I feel so happy, so gleeful, so joyous, that it seems as though something has stolen my breath and stopped my heart.
It’s such an incredible feeling that even those descriptions seem pale and tasteless in their attempt to convey it.
It lasts for a second or two, and I long for that second or two to never end. Sometimes these moments occur at an appropriate time, like the first time my niece said my name and ran to me genuinely excited to see me, or one time when my husband and I were discussing our plans for the future.
I’ve written before about my propensity for tears and how they are a result of overwhelming emotion. At times, I wish I were not so sensitive. Most times, though, I am so grateful that God allows me to feel things so strongly. It makes a way for me to be intensely thankful for my life in this world, for my life in Christ, for the simultaneous simplicity and incomprehensible magnitude of it all.
C.S. Lewis wrote about an experience he had as a child looking into a “biscuit tin filled with moss” and experiencing a fleeting moment of pure joy. In my interpretation, it was like seeing a glimpse of the eternal, a flicker of transcendent beauty in an ordinary thing.
I think he nailed it.
So. Some of my biscuit tins filled with moss:
Sunshine and summertime, warmth and long days.
Small, genuine acts of kindness.
Sports. (‘Sports?’ you say. Yes. I love them.) Football during football season, basketball during basketball season, and baseball during baseball season.
Singing. Music: melodies, harmonies, composition.
Community. People. Company and conversation.
Thank you, Lord, for these glimpses, these moments, these finite things that you empower to, for just a moment, open a window in my soul.