The Wonder in the Moments We Almost Miss

There are moments you can’t plan.

You don’t script them.

You don’t stage them.

You just find yourself in them, surrounded, smiling, maybe even a little overwhelmed and you realize … this is it.

This Easter gave us a collection of those moments.

Our children gathered close, little grandchildren's

hands reaching, curious eyes looking everywhere at once. Laughter echoing around the table. Conversations that weren’t polished or perfect but real. Honest. Us.

We talked about what we think.

What we don’t think.

What we’re still figuring out.

An imperfect, perfect family.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, between the photos, the food, the noise, and the quiet I felt it again:

The wonder of being together.

Easter reminds us that life didn’t stay buried.

“He is not here, for He has risen, as He said.” Matthew 28:6

And because He rose … something in us rises too.

Hope rises.

Grace rises.

Even in the middle of our imperfections, love rises.

As I looked around at our family, I couldn’t help but think:

This is what resurrection looks like in real time.

Not perfection.

Not everything tied together neatly.

But people choosing to stay.

To grow.

To forgive.

To laugh again.

“To Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine …” Ephesians 3:20

Sometimes what He does isn’t loud or dramatic.

Sometimes it looks like Avala, our granddaughter, sitting on her Aunt Danna's lap, smiling.

Indie Mae, our granddaughter, holding a book.

As a Poppi, leaning in close to my grandson, Augstino.

A family sitting together … still learning each other.

Still choosing each other.

We are being refined together.

“Consider it pure joy… whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.” James 1:2–3

And sometimes that refining doesn’t happen in the big moments …

It happens in the everyday ones.

At the table.

In the conversations.

In the presence.

This Easter didn’t just remind me that Jesus is alive.

It reminded me that because He is alive … these moments matter.

The ones we rush past.

The ones we almost miss.

The ones that feel small but aren’t.

Because one day, we’ll realize: they were never small at all.

They were sacred.

Your story matters.