The magic of sunbeams

The practice of being mindful -- if you are open to it -- is easy around toddlers.

Everyday things that could easily go unnoticed -- like an airplane flying by in the distance -- are suddenly bigger than life. It's no longer just a noise, but an activity. The whiz sound turns into arms flying out to our sides and running around in circles saying zoooooom!

So, it's no wonder that Jadyn and Liana start swinging at the air sometimes and, at first glance, I have no idea why. Out of no where, they just start batting at air like it's something. But, a slight movement on my part changes that view.

It's everything they are batting at. Everything that matters.

A sunbeam. I've walked through them or past them a thousand times in my life. But, yesterday, when one was beaming down between me and their ride-on horses, I really looked at it.

Millions of dust specks fluttered and twirled and danced around, slowly. The girls swept their hands through trying to touch all that exists around each and everyone of us every single day. They watched as their white hands and arms became illuminated. They watched as mine did, too.

A part of me was grossed out by the dust that we are breathing in every day.

But, as I stared at it, and watched their little arms fly in, and fly out, I couldn't help having that universally small feeling of being a part of something bigger. I pictured being in space. I pictured feeling no gravitational pull.

And, I smiled, graciously. Because this is something that only a parent can experience.

My girls had to practically drag me away from the sunbeam. The tug of motherhood called for me to go in a different direction.