Three days of no school, and our routine was completely gone. The rhythm of the house was at all times quieter (less coming and going, because of the snow), simpler (home-cooked meals and stretches of unstructured time), louder (more raucous games inspired by cabin fever), and messier (lots of snow tracked inside from outdoor excursions).
I had to let go of a familiar routine and my plans of execution, diving into seeing clearly what was in the now. And then I saw it.
We had all we needed, and we had each other.
Yes, we had to reshuffle obligations and rethink work routines, but we had lots of togetherness. I practiced a lot of piano. I did a lot of thinking. The kids played (and argued) together with abandon. It was beautiful outside.
That time was a gift from God. It was a gift of inconvenience and discomfort, a gift that shifted my sight and allowed me to see the same surroundings in a brighter, more vivid way.
The beauty of that sight is worth all the discomfort.