A few years ago, on a scorching hot workday in August, I visited a Princeton area farm. I was there to oversee a photo shoot for The Lawrentian, and, while the place was idyllic and lovely, I would’ve rather been doing almost anything else — as long as that “anything else” included air-conditioning.
It was one of those days where it felt like I was being assaulted by the sun. A few minutes after we had begun to work, I was soaked through, exhausted, and crabby beyond words.
During a break in the action, I wandered over to the farm store to buy a frozen cider slushie and an apple donut. As I sat there on the store’s covered porch and ate, an old yellow dog lying in the sun in front of me raised her sleepy head, glanced in my direction and decided that I was the type of fellow she’d like to get to know better. She toddled over and flopped down next to me as if we belonged together.
I was sort of honored.
I pet her belly with my left hand and continued to eat with my right.
“This,” I remember thinking, “is what I want my heaven to be like.”
This moment of bliss was quite a turnaround for me. Ten minutes before I met that dog, I was grumbling about the heat. Five minutes after that, I was filled with exhausted relief, thanking God for creating a world that included the cider slushie. And five minutes after that, my heart was full of peace and joy.
I never wanted that moment to end. And, in a way, it didn’t; every time I recall it, I relive it, and I can’t help but smile.
That’s pretty much the way happiness works, I think. At least it’s the way it works for me. It is at once elusive and right in front of my face.
Wanna share a small, happy moment? Please do! Write me a comment!