Guys, I’m not gonna lie: Life is pretty great right now.
I know, I know, I just spent five weeks agonizing over some silly graduation, and before that, flipping out over basic social interactions and the price of eggs. The world is morbid and dark and determined to be miserable, and as a cynical INTJ, I am hardly one to downplay those miseries.
But sometimes, despite the blisters and broken nails, even I must admit that, well… by golly, I’m just really, really happy. Irrationally so. Stupidly so. To the point of running around barefoot in my backyard during the twilight hours, hooting like a maniac and tripping over my own enthusiasm.
Sometimes there’s just so much to get excited over. I went outside yesterday evening and found a Renaissance painting reflecting off fields of wheat — and for pity’s sake, people, if that isn’t enough to flip tables and do cartwheels for, what is?!
LOOK AT IT. LOOK. JUST… JUST LOOK.
Let me tell ya, living in Michigan has been a serious education in all the things God can do with the sky. I’ve seen more spectacular sunsets in the span of one week than I did during my entire existence in Maryland.
Of course, after only two minutes of raving over the sunset, I was already distracted by this little guy:
Yes, his name really is Floof. A fine example of my older brother’s top-notch naming skills.
HOW IS THIS LITTLE HAIRBALL SO ADORABLE??? IT’S UNNATURAL. I’M NOT OKAY.
This somehow prompted a full-scale re-enactment of the Lion King. I’m sure Floof appreciated it.
But his affection soon turned to cannibalism, which brought a quick and painful end to my ecstasies.
I could hear other kittens playing in the wheat field, so naturally, I (never one to be deterred from kitten-love) set about trying to coax them out to play with me.
The result was cooing and crooning for an unholy amount of time as they flat-out ignored me.
The soft “dangit” at the end is the cry of a broken woman.
Even more damaging to my already injured soul was the fact that when Anna unceremoniously showed up a few minutes later and called them, this happened:
The little traitor.
He soon regretted it.
This is documented proof that my sister, who claims to be twenty-two, is actually a five-year-old in disguise.
Being presented with a chance for escape, the kitten seized his moment and took off.
But she was not so quick to give up.
So naturally, more Lion King recreations seemed appropriate.
And then… well… I’m not really sure why, but Anna dropped the kitten and said, “Sarah, take a picture of me running across the yard.” She paused, and added, “Only a picture, mind you, and not a video. I don’t want a video.”
So naturally, I took a video.
Friends, this is my sister. She looks so docile and sweet when you first meet her. But stick around long enough, and you’ll witness things you can’t unsee.
Yeah, it just got worse from there.
And then, all too quickly, the sunset was gone, the mosquitoes appeared in legions, and we were back to our whiny, lethargic selves. I could hear the teakettle whistling from inside the house. Lightning bugs were out.
And the moment of lilac-saturated light and Renaissance clouds slipped away.
Did you know there’s a word for those kinds of moments? A word that describes big skies and opalescent shadows? A word that means “kittens” and “Lion King” and “crazy sisters,” a word meant for rare burst of unparalleled rapture?
I think God sprinkles little moments of euphoria into each of our lives to remind us what joy feels like, joy without conditions or fine-print. To remind us what it’s like to live in the moment. To not worry. To be happy for the sheer sake of being happy.
I live for those moments.
And Anna lives for torturing cats.
It’s a win-win situation all around.