Feel this Moment (thanks, Christina Aguilara)

Every once in awhile I like to blast that song, "Feel this Moment" sung by Pitbull and Christina Aguilara. That's a pretty awesome confession, I know. But I do like that song (it's a great one to run to), and I even like its message:

One day when my light is glowing
I'll be in  my castle golden
But until the gates are open
I just want to feel this moment...

I've been thinking a lot about that message lately. For too much of my time each day, I'm not in the moment, not present, not aware. Sometimes I blame that on having two little ones whose needs are physically demanding. It seems as soon as I make breakfast, there's a spill to mop up, then more laundry to do, beds to make, noses to wipe, ouches to bandage and then its lunchtime and it all starts again. I confess that there are moments that I wish away--banal every day things like changing a diaper or sitting with Lillian through another first grade homework assignment--only to find that the moment has passed and I didn't experience it, or see it, or feel it, or live it.

A couple of weeks ago I was waiting in the check out line in Walmart. The kids were at home with Trent and I was enjoying a blissful couple of hours of uninterrupted errand running. As I waited in line I kept hearing a woman calling, "Diana! Diana!" and on some unconscious level, what registered in my brain was that some mother was dealing with a very naughty toddler.

My wait in line continued, as did the sound and now urgency of the mother's voice, "Diana! Diana!" she called and called repeatedly. All around me people were standing in line and cashiers were absent-mindedly scanning and placing newly purchased items in plastic bags and waiting carts, to the now urgent and loud cacophony of a near shriek, "Diana! Diana!"

And then, an announcement over the loudspeaker, "We have a missing child. All cashiers please stay at your stations. Security protocol is now in place...." Those weren't the exact words of the announcement, but it was something like that.

Time went in sudden slow motion. I was snapped to attention as the pieces of the event coalesced in my mind: This was a mother, looking for her daughter, a little toddler named Diana, and she had been screaming her name for well over five minutes. Neither I nor anyone else had offered a hand of assistance.

It all moved like a slow motion camera, as I turned and looked to where the sound of her voice was coming, I saw another woman waiting at a recently vacated cashier stand. "Are you looking for a little girl?" the woman asked the frantic mother.
"Because there's a little girl hiding right here." The mother ran to the spot, at which point tiny frightened Diana emerged. Her mother burst into tears as she simultaneously fell to the floor, wrapping her arms around Diana.

And then it was over. No one said anything. Cashiers kept scanning merchandise. Customers pushed laden carts out the door. A woman knelt, tears coursing down her cheeks, arms wrapped around a tiny girl.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about that experience. I was more than a little chagrined that I had missed the moment, sorry that I had been there, unfettered even by the demands of my own little children, and while I had heard the call for help, I hadn't understood it. I felt sorry then, I feel sorry now.

The moments of my life are what my life is made of:

Spilled milk and cereal fans out across my kitchen table, a toddler boy standing near by with a serious and apologetic expression.

A young girl agonizes over math homework, making eraser lines repeatedly, tears spilling over

Falling leaves carpet my lawn and a devoted husband rakes them into piles, and our small children jump in them merrily, smiles and laughter shining in their faces.

These mundane every day moments, for the good and the bad. I need to stop, breathe, and feel this moment.