Lovebursts

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Not much to report here in Sara-land. Life has been pretty ordinary lately.

Anyone watching "Last Comic Standing" on NBC? I absolutely love that show--not only because it's good old-fashioned reality TV (one of life's best guilty pleasures) but also because... well, who doesn't love a show that makes them laugh? Plus this year, the talent scouts in each city are celebrity comedians themselves. For example, in last week's episode, Angela and Ocsar from "The Office" were the talent scouts. So that's just an extra reason to watch and enjoy.

Tony shared a sweet story with me last night. He said he went in the bathroom to get his sandals (yeh, don't ask me why he keeps shoes in the bathroom) yesterday, and found them already clasped shut. Since Ari's new favorite hobby is latching straps together (like the straps on her highchair and stroller), he knew it was Ari who had done it. And he said it made him smile. OK, I know that sounds like a stupid story, but you fellow parents know what I mean, right? Every so often, you come across a little "reminder" that you have a little one sharing your life, and you have a little warm-and-fuzzy moment in your heart. I once read someone who described them as "lovebursts" and I love that term. It seems to perfectly describe the feeling--just a little burst of happiness in your soul.

Oooh, here, let me quote that author--he says it much more beautifully than I do. (This is from He Still Moves Stones by Max Lucado.)

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LET’S TALK for a minute about lovebursts.

You’ve witnessed sunbursts: sunlight shafting into a shadowed forest. You’ve seen starbursts: shots of light soaring through a night sky. And you’ve heard powerbursts: raw energy booming in the silence. And you’ve felt lovebursts. You may not have called them such, but you’ve felt them.

Lovebursts. Spontaneous affection. Tender moments of radiant love. Ignited devotion. Explosions of tenderness.

May I illustrate?

You and your husband are at a party. One of those stand-in-the-living-room-and-talk-and-eat parties. You are visiting with some women, and your husband is across the room in a circle of men. The topic in your group is husbands, and the collective opinion is negative. The women complain about the amount of golf, dirty socks, and late nights at work. But you’re silent. You say little because you have little to say. The guy you married isn’t perfect, but he isn’t a pain either. In fact, compared to these guys, he sounds pretty special. He’s changed more than his share of diapers, and his golf clubs haven’t come down out of the attic since the last baby was born. You look across the room at your husband and smile at the way he tugs at the tie you convinced him to wear. Still as handsome as the day you met. A bit paunchier and balder perhaps, but you don’t see that. All you see is the man who stole your heart. And all of a sudden you’d go to China in a rowboat to tell him how glad you are that he did.

That’s a loveburst.

Here is another.

It’s been a while since you held a baby. It’s been a while since you were near a baby. But now you’re alone with the baby. Your kids dropped him off at the house for the evening, and your wife ran to the store to get some milk, and now ifs just you and your grandson. He’s only a few days old and wrapped tighter than the cigars you gave your friends. As you cradle him in your arms, you realize this is the first time the two of you have been alone. With all the fanfare and friends at the hospital, you haven’t shared a private moment--till now. So you sit in your big chair and turn him so you can see his face. You ponder the future, his future: first steps, first kiss, football, college. You wonder what it’s going to be like being a kid in a world where hurt seems to linger on every corner.

As you look into the little eyes and nose that came from the other side of the family, it hits you. Out of nowhere comes a bolt of devotion. You’re suddenly aware that hell itself would have to get past you to get to this one who carries your name. “It’s gonna be all right,” you hear yourself pledge to the sleeping boy. “What ever happens, just remember I’m here. It’s gonna be all right.” . . .

That’s what lovebursts do. They remind you about what matters. A telegram delivered to the back door of the familiar, telling you to treasure the treasure you’ve got while you’ve got it. A whisper from an angel, or someone who sounds like one, reminding you that what you have is greater than what you want and that what is urgent is not always what matters.

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All right, now I'm getting all verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves.