Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years

-Fiddler on the Roof

 I've never seen Fiddler on the Roof. Maybe I should. But I remember my mom liking this song. I remember hearing it at weddings. And I remember thinking to myself how utterly depressing it is.

It's reminds me of a host of other somber songs like "Don't Blink" and "Remember When."

My awesome in-laws have graciously rented a beach house this week so that we could spend time together. I've little more to do than soak in sun and breeze. I'm feasting on Frito scoops and pimiento cheese while laughing and exchanging stories.

The days seem longer. And I'm grateful.

Jason and Hayden are driving back and forth some to be able to work during the day. They leave the beach house before 5:30 in the morning.

Last night Hayden and I took a stroll on the beach. We saw the sun set. Neither a picture nor words can describe how pretty it was.

"I saw the sun rise and set today", Hayden remarked.

He seemed to understand in depth the meaning of a day as he talked about things he wants to do with his life.

I understood the meaning of days too like those sad crooners in the Fiddler on the Roof, singing-

 Is this the little boy at play?
I don't remember growing older
When did they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he get to be so tall?
Wasn't it yesterday
When they were small?

 Thankfully I was quickly wrapped up in the sky's warm pink hues and my heart was reminded of the Psalm.

 Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
Psalm 90:12

 Seeing a sunrise and sunset bookends a day. Countless sweet days pass. For less sweet days, there's an end to our toil and trouble. And then there's a fresh start.  Through the years we're given one sunrise after another; new opportunity to bring glory to a good father.

I remember feeding the cows with my parents when I was growing up. I remember the sound of the shaking feed sacks and the cows' insistent "moos".   I remember the smell of the feed, and the grass being stirred beneath their feet.

And I remember counting the cows. Because each head was precious to the herd.

As I've taught little ones, I would ceaselessly count when we went on field trips. My mind's eye bounced from head to head always sighing with relief knowing I had the number I'd been given.

Memories are precious, count them. Troubles like thunderclouds pass over or rain down, and then they're gone. Count troubles passed too.

Swiftly fly the years and good is each day we're given.

Count them.

* This post was affectionately edited, formatted, and published by Kristi's loving and handsome husband.