There it was, my perfectly white devotional book laying there on the coffee table, except it wasn’t only white anymore. Beside the initials of the book title there were now red pen marks that resembled a rough drawing of a shooting star. If you squint your eyes just hard enough.
On my WHITE book.
Ruined. No longer coffee table worthy. Those were my immediate thoughts. Then, “Can’t I just have a few nice things to myself?”
Guess not. The amount of angst I had over a little red pen mark was a bit much when I look back on it. Even a little silly, really. When my husband saw the book, and saw my demeanor—he in all his husbandly wisdom told me, “date the moment.” Something so profound to me, yet puzzling at first because how could he not see the injustice? In his attempt to disarm the situation, he completely turned my outlook on this situation around.
With three simple words.
I no longer look at this simple attempt of coloring by my not-even-two-year-old as an act against me, but an act to remind me. These moments won’t last forever. There will be a day coming where when I leave a book on my coffee table, it will sit there in peace until I pick it up again to read it. I think we need these little reminders along the way in motherhood. We need something to remember these days, even the ones we especially want to forget. We need to date the moment when we can. Because as my kids grow, they’ll gain more and more independence from me. They’ll be needing me less and less, but I’ll have these moments to look back on and smile.
Why “date the moment?”
I’ll take out that devotional to read again and on the cover will be a date and the scribbles of an almost two year old all those years ago. The child who saw the color red and felt only the desire to color and make something out of a blank canvas. It will be a reminder of their presence in the little years. I’ll forever be thankful that years ago my husband brought me so much perspective in three simple words, and I dated the moment. Then, I’ll probably go down the rabbit hole of memories of the little years. Only to resurface full of longing for those days, at the same time relieved that when I set the book back down, it will sit there undisturbed.