Each morning, for many months now, I wake up to an inspirational message from Father James Reuter (you can subscribe by texting "Reuter" to 326). The quote above was his message last September 6 and it came on the heels of a quiet moment I had the night before with my own beloved. We both had had a very full day, starting early in the morning, and the only time we got together again was late in the evening, for a quick bite with friends in Penang at The Promenade.
Back home as we were getting ready to go to sleep, we found ourselves silently brushing our teeth side by side, comfortably lost in our own thoughts. Midway, he casually nuzzled into my side and with a soft smile filtering through the foamy toothpaste on his lips and the toothbrush still stuck in his mouth, he put his left arm around my waist. And we went on with the business of brushing our teeth. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing to do. We had, once again and as with many other moments in our seven-year marriage, settled contentedly in a space where no words were spoken; none were even needed to begin with.
Richard always does little things like that to me. He always pulls me onto his lap when we browse through the Web together, tucks me in the crook of his arm as we watch TV, strokes my hair because he knows that puts me to sleep fast, and holds my hand forever and ever, whenever, wherever. Perhaps I just noticed how affectionate he really is as a husband that night more than usual because we had both been so busy the past week and I really missed his company. After changing we plopped into bed, talked for a while about the day’s activities and fell asleep with our fingers entwined, Juliana between us.
That, too, has become a sort of ritual for us in bed. No matter where in our bed Juliana chooses to sleep (usually in the middle), our hands, arms, legs, or feet always find their way to each other. Even as we are still enveloped in the cocoon of deep sleep, it is customary for one of us to reach out, with eyes still closed, looking for the other. Sometimes we sleep like spoons; other times our fingers barely touch (it gets more challenging the bigger Juliana gets), but it does not matter really as long as a part of us is connected, even in the slightest way possible. It is as simple as that. Yes, even if we have just had an argument, the same holds true. Come bedtime, the problem may yet be unresolved but the ritual carries on. It is a habit that very casually seeped into our private sleeping space, one that has made a permanent home there.
That was never planned, you know. It just came to be and perhaps we simply melted into what felt like the most natural thing for two people in love to do. And that is something I am thankful for. Tangible touchstones of affection like that have a way of insulating the love that is already beautifully shared, in the same way that it can soften the pain that such a love can entail. It diffuses into more manageable bits the differences that are a reality in any relationship. If not for the little things – the things that bespeak one’s affection – we would never be as close a couple as we are. My spouse is not only my sweetheart, he is my best friend, my best traveling companion, my buddy for life. There is nothing I cannot tell him and he knows that.
I once asked a stranger I was sitting beside on the plane what her secret to staying married for over 50 years was (of course, only after she volunteered the information to me in the course of our conversation). She corrected me and said she did not just stay married, she stayed in love while married. And that the secret was in loving her spouse, every single day of her life, in little things as well as in the bigger ones. Soon enough, she said, it became a habit – one that just flowed out effortlessly, as natural as breathing.
Father Thomas Keating, in an interview I had with him a couple of months back, also said wisely that loving is best done in the milieu of everyday life. When there is love, everything you do with, for and apart from your beloved is always infused with the love held precious in the heart. Only then will these little chores, the compulsory routines, essentially become more than what they are.
And Father Reuter’s message above holds so true, not only in the context of marriage but in the realm of all kinds of human relationships as well. Always, it is the little everyday things that count for more.
I know I had nice kiddie parties, some years bigger than others, but the one I remember clearly was when I was maybe five or six years old and I could have no party because my dad and I got chicken pox at the same time. My sister and I had this little square table in yellow and on the day of my birthday, my mom sat me down on one of the matching yellow chairs and laid a cake in front of me. Lighting the candles she sang me the Happy Birthday song. You know how birthday celebrations matter so much to little kids that birthdays are almost as important as Christmas? And so it was, late in the morning while the whole household was abuzz with activity and my mother had somehow managed to find a sweet way to make me feel like it really was my special day. Mommy also allowed me and my siblings to play in every corner of the house, turn over and rearrange the furniture depending on which cartoon-inspired fantasy we were living out, read us bedtime stories and was always home to be with us when we got back from school.
My dad, sturdy and ever-reliable, has responsibly done many big things for the family but the chips that are stored in my memory bank are those that show what kind of a father he is in the daily grind of things. He was the one who patiently taught me and my sister our math when we exhausted our mom’s legendary patience, took us to the dentist and the doctor for shots, and I remember during his trips to Cebu when right before he had to leave the house to board the ship, he would take me and my sister Caren on either side and hold our hands until it was really time to go. My parents are wonderful in big ways, but even more so in little ones.
Yes, we appreciate the grand gestures that showcase how much we are valued but somehow we always tend to soak longer in the memory of the more mundane ones. Those ordinary moments are the perfect prerequisites for extraordinary memories, those modest gestures make for more lasting impressions. They are the ones that beautifully stand out, they are those we remember more.
While the world rushes by at breathless speed, there is no balm quite like that of making thoughtful connections with the people in our lives. The fruits of these significant interactions, these seemingly ordinary exchanges, provide us a haven to flee to when the rest of the world swirls crazily around us. They validate people in our lives, they are little gifts that keep on giving, and they always mean more than what they were initially intended to.
Even through the busiest day, don’t just always rush by at breakneck speed. Smile at your maid, affirm your gardener for a job well done, thank your driver, never be too busy to hug a child, love deeply your spouse. There is a lot of compassion to go around for everybody; that is how people become inspired to give themselves to others more selflessly. The well of compassion is such that it runs deeper the more it is shared, given, and consumed.
Years from now, when I am old and gray, and the lines I will be faced with are not found in the grocery store but in the mirror as I look at it, I know I will always be warmed by the memory of Juliana calling out a loud "I love you, Mommy" even in the midst of play, how her eyes light up when she sees me walk through the door, how she gets Kleenex to wipe my tears when she sees me cry and how she forces me to drink water from her milk bottle because "you have to drink water after you cry, mommy."
My heart will soar in the knowledge that there was never a time when I came home and Richard did not engulf me in a big bear hug, a daily treat I always look forward to. I will always hold precious the countless times we would hold each other’s hand, through good movies and bad ones, across the restaurant table, in long lines, plane rides, through tears and traffic jams. I will read over and over again, till they are all crumbly and yellowed with age, the random notes and letters he leaves on my work table, cards and letters he writes me on special occasions (but more often when there is none), remember sweetly, too, the many times he cooked for me and helped technophobe me figure out all those high-tech gadgets that seem to multiply and get more complicated by the day. He has his own special brand of magic.
What the eyes cannot see, the heart can feel. And what the mind forgets, the heart will always remember. The ordinary things are the highlights of our life, they are the very things that nourish and sustain all the big blessings we already have and hold.