I'd live my last day ordinary

Recently I was out of town for a team retreat and for a moment I wondered,
"What if this was the last day, the last hours, the last minutes I'd spend
with my family?"

At first the thought was startling, a bit morbid, and unsettling; I felt very sad.
And then I considered eternity ahead, and with small eyes of faith I decided
I'd live my last day ordinary.

I'd spend time dancing with Noah because no one dances and laughs, grooves and spins better than him.  I try to dance like him, but it's not good.  Fun, but not graceful; silly, but not cool.  I'd talk about mundane things like Scholastic news homework and Spanish assignments.  I'd help him, spend time with him.

I'd spend time singing with Abi, who knows every lyric of every song imaginable.  She's clever and smart, wise and good.  We'd talk about school drama, friends who need a clue and others who are helpful and kind, friends who build Abi up.  We'd discuss leadership team at school and the antics of the advisors.

I'd spend time with Micaiah, who likes to walk and talk.  We'd see migratory birds like sandhill cranes, loons, Canadian geese, and mallards.  We'd discuss teachers who drive him crazy and students who are confusing and assignments that are lame.  We'd dream about the future and what he'd like to do, roles he'd like to have, tasks he'd like to complete.

I'd spend time with Dan, snuggling and talking, laughing and listening.  He'd make delicious food and give perspective, piles of it, for the drama I'd be neck deep in. He'd do impressions of politically un correct people and problems.  Catching up on facebook friends, and childhood friends, and extended family members, we'd just be.

That's my ordinary life; that's what I'd want to live.
I'm loved unconditionally,
I'm encouraged,
I'm pushed and stretched,
I'm privileged to be a part of something so much bigger than me,
in the hands of God.