A Poolside View of Love

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Every year when May rolls over me, I gather the things we need for the “pool bag.” I throw out last year’s scratched up goggles, expired sunscreen, and the lone flip flop who has lost its mate. I pack four beach towels, a new tube of zinc oxide, a few Costa Rican colones (so we can dive for treasure in the deep end), wiffle balls for catch, and empty ziplock baggies (because life). Then I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and remember.

I remember when they were bald little babies, and lathering them up for a swim was a sticky, messy, teary, fiasco. Those days were filled with swim diapers that held WAY more than the box promise of 16-34 lbs. When we encouraged, “Kick, kick, kick!” and toothless grins were as wide as the Texas skies. Our youngest convinced that she could walk on water, way before she knew Jesus had done that already.

Then came the days of “Rocket jumps” from one side of the pool to the other. “Momma, count how long I can hold my breath” for the 852nd time, endless games of Sharks and Minnows. The year they learned to walk on their hands in the shallow end. “Did you know I can hear your charm bracelet underwater too, Momma?”

My memories are sweaty, sun-kissed, sky-blued and filled at every turn with, “Watch me Momma!” on repeat. I wouldn’t trade them for all the tea in Texas. For I have had a poolside view of Love at work. Love at work in me, my marriage, and my progeny. Love smells like sunscreen, tastes like popsicles, feels sunshine on my shoulders, looks like floaties, and sounds like every “Marco … Polo!” I’ve ever heard.

May you too find yourself on the edge of the pool, or sitting on the dock of the bay — gazing on Love this summer!

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