I am a moment-maker. I like to pause an experience—step out of the moment and see it, glean from it—in order to step back in and value it. Last October, I sat with a friend before a fire in her hearth, sipping hot chocolate and watching falling maple leaves swirl past the window. An ordinary moment, alive suddenly with perfection, as I saw how it embodied autumn in its hunkering down.
When my eight-year-old granddaughter, Ruby, visited last summer, the moments practically tripped over themselves. There was the evening she rode her bicycle, no hands, down our quiet street, arms lifted high like she might leave terra firma and pedal across the sky. I embraced in that moment the wide-open invitation of childhood.
The day we arrived at the zoo, Ruby exclaimed, “Hallelujah!” I responded, “Hallezoojah!” We wilted through the humidity from one animal enclosure to the next, got sticky from melting bubblegum ice cream, swam with the brown bear on the outside of the tank—almost, but not quite, wishing we were inside cooling off. The whole day was one big “hallezoojah” moment as we celebrated generational joy and discovery.
To make a moment is to inhale the very breath of my Creator Savior. It is to see Him in all that He has established, and breathe it back to Him.
