I’m a sucker for a good song. My sensitive, deep feeling self always takes note when I hear something particularly poignant.
Recently a music video by Nichole Nordeman has been making the rounds on Facebook and social media. One of the verses goes like this:
Won’t you stay here a minute more
I know you want to walk through the door
But it’s all too fast
Let’s make it last a little while
I pointed to the sky and now you wanna fly
I am your biggest fan
I hope you know I am
But do you think you can somehow
Her words have obviously resonated with many folks. As of the writing of this blog, her video has been viewed over 14 million times. In her lyrics she is specifically talking about her kiddos, but I wonder if it moves so many people because of how rarely we connect with the sacred.
Childhood is a time of life never to be repeated and therefore holds a special kind of holy. We will never again have the innocence or naivety we have as kiddos. And no matter how much we love our children, we can’t give it back to them either.
I wonder if this is why we hold this song with tear stained hands as we think about the process of growing up. We know it will happen and it’s good—but it’s hard to say goodbye to the wonder and the dependence and the love of childhood.
But maybe, it's supposed to be hard? Maybe that's okay.
I write frequently about bittersweet topics. Once we see how fleeting so many precious aspects of life are, we can’t help but acknowledge the grief existing right next to joy.
Good art seems to pull this from us. It causes us to view something with a wide lens. We are forced to acknowledge the dichotomy of our experiences. Childhood with many beautiful pieces also comes with an expiration date.
And so with our deadline, we tend to value it all the more.
I hope I’m always moved when I'm confronted with the brevity of life. I hope I can never think about how quickly life passes and feel numb to it. I’m grateful for artists like Nichole Nordeman who point these things out in us.
This is the stuff, don’t you think?
The recognition of life and how it passes through our hands like sand; and instead of cursing it’s passing—we celebrate that we touched it at all.
(In case you haven't seen the video yet and need a good cry. Enjoy.)