I woke early the morning before we left and watched the sun rise above the mountains behind the home I was raised in. All of those years as a child, I don't think I ever noticed a sunrise. Of course, I was still sleeping. But us kids would get up as soon as the sun's rays pierced our bedroom windows.
We always headed to the mountains. In part to procrastinate the impending school work mom had for us, but mostly to explore and create. We carved trails hiking up that mountain, made gum trees and forged a lifelong bond with one another. We laughed, rarely argued (we saved that for inside), and let that fresh mountain air fill our lungs for as long as we could hold mom off.
The sunsets I remember. When their beauty was breathtaking (which was often), you could look out the front window and see dad just standing there. Taking it all in. Enjoying the amazing moment that was created for, what seemed like, just us.
In my heart, though, are those treasured, early morning moments spent playing outside. Digging massive caverns in the mountainside for our fortress. Fully equipped with bathroom and all. Dad may never know where all of his tools are, but one day, some great archeologist may find them and rejoice with his link to the past. History. That's what we made on those mornings.
I often tell people, I never lived in the city until I was married and moved away. The city is convenient in ways, with grocery stores and shopping centers only moments away. But mountain living runs through my veins and deep in my roots. I will forever treasure my time with them.
My precious memories are a mere glimpse at the beauty of what is to come beyond this life. Thank you, Lord, for the sneak peek.
