Since this blog reflects Barbara Isaac, and Barbara Isaac is both a writer and a personal coach, I will be sharing a bit of my writing with you every other week from now on.
I hope these words will make you smile, or think, or challenge your heart and mind.
Here is your first taste:
This is what thirty-eight years looks like.
The bonfire is hot, and I see in the reflected light the same gentle eyes that took my breath away when I was sixteen. We are sitting outside, and the locusts are so loud that they drown out any other sound.
The sky is magnificent, and the stars seem to cover every inch of it. Hundred of diamonds in the expanse above.
“This is the best,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies.
We soak in the peace that wraps itself around us.
“Isn’t it amazing to live in such harmony with one another?” I ask.
“I know,” he says. “I was thinking the same thing.”
We are quiet for a while, not for a lack of things to say. Just because it is right.
He pours two glasses of wine and makes a toast.
“To nights like this today and forever,” he says.
“I’ll drink to that!”
He turns on the bluetooth on his phone and Billy Joel fills the yard.
“Sing us a song, you’re the piano man,
Sing us a song tonight,
Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody,
And you got us feeling alright”
We both chime in and fill the air with our less than perfect voices. We laugh.
It feels so good to just be there together.
Thirty-eight years of life together. Of singing and dancing and crying and working and praying and learning and breathing together.
Thirty-eight years of practicing love. And giving and listening and laughing and praying and sacrificing and forgiving and moving together.
Thirty-eight years of building. Of letting go and burying what needed to go and planting and watering and weeding and praying and bearing fruit together.
Sitting together in the backyard by the fire, it is well with us.
We have learned to go with the moments that present themselves.
To trust each other.
To enjoy who He made us to be.
Billy Joel’s voice dies down, and the yard fills with the sound of locusts once again.
“God is good,” he says.
“Time for bed?” he adds.
“Yes,” I say.
It’s really that simple.