Only from the distance of time can we fully appreciate certain events.  I recall incidents from years ago...my parents dancing around the kitchen, oblivious to the giggles of their offspring, Daddy crooning Bobby Darin songs, Mom gazing into his eyes like a besotted teen.
      On another occasion, Dad wheedled his large teenagers and wife to layer winter clothing on to go out, near midnight, to bathe in glorious moonlight.  We complied grudgingly, then trudged out into the lower field, through the Pennnsylvania wood lightly dusted with snow, into the upper field and across to the neighbor's lands.  It was sheer magic.  All the world was hushed. The air hung, cool and clean.  

      I recall other singular nights, such as the time Sam and I slipped away from my parents' home for last minute Christmas shopping. Visiting from Texas, we rejoiced at the snow which infused the holiday with a layer of authenticity. Mom and Dad kept the kids, so we ventured into town like a young dating couple.  We circled the town square in Ligonier,  lustrous with new snow and lights.  The magic of the season, the saturating wonder drenched us.  I certainly believed in the Virgin birth and almost in Santa Claus.

     Truly, I learned to savor such moments from Mom and Dad.  Sam claims he learned all sentimentality from Little House on the Prairie and My Three Sons, as his folks were practical to the core.  Regardless of the tutors, I'm grateful we learned, and hope our children will carry on the tradition. If we don't sense eternity within a moment, constancy in love, then what is life's meaning? 
     My experience with life thus far has convinced me that despite earthly disappointments, there are plenty of moments that dazzle the soul and lift the spirit.  We might enjoy them more if we yield to them, looking for them and even creating their possibility. 
 

(to be cont'd)