He Made Bubbles

Today, KJ and I played with bubbles.

At two years old, he was absolutely captivated.

He chased them with everything he had. He giggled as they floated just beyond his reach. He squealed every time one landed softly on the grass, only to stomp it with all the determination his little legs could muster.

One bubble.

Then another.

Then another.

Hundreds of them.

To me, they were bubbles.

To him, they were magic.

And somewhere between his laughter and my watching, I realized something.

His delight became my delight.

I wasn’t fascinated by the bubbles. I was fascinated by the wonder they awakened in him. Every laugh filled my own heart. Every smile made me smile. There is something about watching someone you love experience joy that somehow multiplies your own.

It made me wonder if that’s a tiny glimpse into the Father’s heart.

Maybe God delights when His children delight.

Not because He needs us to notice what He’s made, but because every ordinary gift is another opportunity to know the Giver.

A butterfly drifting through the garden.

The scent of fresh-cut grass.

An old dog stretched out in the afternoon sun.

A summer breeze through the trees.

The first tomato on the vine.

A grandchild chasing bubbles across the backyard.

None of those moments announce themselves as important.

They simply arrive, quietly waiting to be noticed.

I think we spend so much of our lives looking ahead that we miss the gifts already at our feet. We wait for vacations, promotions, answered prayers, and milestone moments, while God continues to whisper His kindness through ordinary Tuesday afternoons.

Today, it was bubbles.

Not because bubbles are remarkable.

But because wonder is.

Children possess it so naturally. They aren’t embarrassed to stop everything for something beautiful. They haven’t yet learned to hurry past joy.

Maybe that’s why I love spending time with my grandchildren.

They remind me how to notice.

How to kneel in the grass.

How to laugh without restraint.

How to marvel at things I’ve seen a thousand times before.

Maybe growing older doesn’t have to mean growing less amazed.

Maybe it can mean becoming more grateful.

Because if my heart could be so full watching a little boy delight in bubbles, I can’t help but believe our Heavenly Father smiles when His children pause long enough to delight in the beautiful world He created.

Perhaps that’s what cherishing the ordinary really is.

Not finding extraordinary moments.

But discovering that the ordinary has been extraordinary all along.