We enjoy barbecued burgers, a couple games of Trouble, and a hot tub. It’s still not dark enough for the surprise Gerry and Makiya have cooked up, so we watch a couple episodes of an old 80’s show on Amazon Prime and eat ice cream while we wait.
The appointed time arrives. I’m instructed to keep my eyes closed, something is placed into each of my hands (these objects giving me an idea about what’s about to happen), and Makiya leads me out into the backyard behind Gerry.
There’s some activity, then “open your eyes!”, and—behold!—we’ve all got sparklers in our hands. It’s delightful. I haven’t held a sparkler for decades and it’s magical—more than it was so long ago. The real magic is in Makiya’s eyes. That, and the simple wonder of we three sharing this moment together—the culmination of yet another scheme cooked up by a girl and her always-up-for-fun grandpa.
The sparklers don’t last long—the greatest delights never seem too. But this time there’s more.
Someone says something about the stars, Makiya says “whoa!”, and wonder turns to worship and we stand with heads lifted, our eyes scanning the nighttime sky. Gerry points out the Big Dipper and we follow the movement of a satellite. We say a few words about the wonder of it all, but mostly we just look up in awe.
I think God delights in us this sweet evening as we delight in the miracle that is the good creation. And I think the magic we, who are called very good, experienced as we waved twinkling sparklers is no less a miracle. A gift. Imagined and planned by a girl and her grandpa, but the fruition of so many changing paths and detours and so much grace that all combined to bring us here together on this evening to be filled with wonder.
Beloved. All of us. And graced with these simply perfect moments. Nothing compares.