Digging Up History and a Little Fun

My dear husband has been working on a project in our garage for the last couple of weeks, often accompanied by his handy sidekick, Lucas.

We brought the project to a conclusion this weekend when we went through all the boxes stored in our garage and determined what we would continue to keep and store on our newly built shelf.

We got the kids settled playing in the back yard and started digging through boxes. Fortunately, our kids happened upon a great day of playing together without needing us to intervene. Blessings!

I'm kind of amazed at some of the things I unearthed. Whole chapters of my life suddenly before me as I opened an envelope full of letters from family when I went on a service project in college. Or discovering the photos and memorabilia of my college boyfriend I was sure were long gone.

And the stuffed animals and toys ... saved for my precious future children. A few treasured items will be kept, but so much just taking up space all these years.

As we sorted through junk and loaded Scott's van with the vestiges of our memories to donate, a familiar rhythm began -- one that is often overshadowed by the large personalities of our young children. The teasing and playfulness we once knew as we worked together on projects in our pre-baby days gradually surfaced.

I've pestered my husband for the last several months about the box of stuff he cleaned out of his truck when we traded it in for the Jeep a couple of years ago that is STILL sitting on our garage floor. I've asked him dozens of times to go through it and pitch what he doesn't want.

And there it sits.

As we were finishing up our day, I noted that after having gone through boxes and boxes of junk, still that one box remained.  "We're going to have cleaned out this whole garage and that box will still be sitting there!" I joked.

Moments later my husband discovered another  hockey puck. I had discovered one earlier, a memento from a friend's wedding, and I wondered what to do with it. We had shared a chuckle about letting the boys play with it, to which I pointed out that with its heft they would likely break something.

"Here, catch!" my dear husband shouted as he flung the puck at me.

I ducked for cover only to realize it was a foam puck and shouted at him.

"It's been a long time since you called me that," he returned with a smile.

There was a lightness to our exchange.

A playfulness I've missed.

I think maybe we'll need to undertake a few more projects this summer.

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I am reminded how restorative, how healing, playfulness can be.

A dear friend took to the stage in front of friends,
family and 30+ coworkers to shave her head today. As she begins chemo treatments she wanted to be in control of how and when she lost her hair.

About 8 others chose to have their heads shaved with Nicole, along with her two sons (one got a Mohawk!) and husband.

Amidst the laughter and joviality of the event, I caught sight of my friend as the clippers sheared her locks to the floor. My breath caught and I wanted to rush to her side and draw her into a long hug. For all the playfulness and all the fun, shaving your hair off  ... wearing a badge for all the world to see and question and ask and stare ... that's no easy thing.

My friend is brave.

And she knows how to take a hard thing and make it fun.

But that certainly doesn't make it easy.