the night we lay beneath the stars

he pulls me to the door. outside the night is young like us, all freckled with stars. the children in bed and down the patio steps into grass still warm from summer. he pulls me to the trampoline and there, two pillows and a blanket, the quilt from our bed. he looks at me and i smile and he pulls me up. we lie there beneath the freckles and it’s bible school again. that night we took to the yard in woolen socks, his parents asleep and we lay there kissing, only now we talk.

i can hear the leaves changing color and i shiver close. we kiss but it feels awkward and we laugh and then a baby starts to cry.

but i choose to believe. i fold this moment up, all tattered with its frayed quilts and awkward kisses and i tuck it into the hole inside. the hole that begs like a needy child for love and meaning and purpose.

because sometimes all we have is tattered and awkward, and it’s the heart behind. i am bruised from years of hurting myself but here is someone who handles me gentle, who cares enough to put pillow and blanket on trampoline even for five minutes of talking. and it’s these moments that tell us we are worth it.

these are gifts, these moments, even as the sound of the leaves changing color or the touch of a baby’s skin or the taste of chocolate mousse or the long unexpected sleep… these are gifts from a God who longs to pull us to himself and talk. a God who believes we are worth the details of the day, the little, seemingly insignificant details, because we are so very significant to him.