We got to my parents’ house in time to visit their candlelight service at church. I love candlelight services. There is something so…Christmasy about everyone singing “Silent Night” in the flickering glow of tiny flames.
I was sitting by my mother, so I had to lean over to see my niece. When I did, I got a jolt. There was my brother, my baby brother, now grown with children of his own. He had his arm around his oldest, a little curly headed girl who snuggled up against her Daddy.
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Not so long ago (okay, it was two decades or more, but who’s counting?), I was that little curly headed girl snuggled up against her Daddy and my brother (he who is now head of his own family) was an even tinier boy who mourned my entrance into first grade.
Every now and then I do that. I’ll be rolling along, living my life, and boom, something will jolt me backwards to the days of sponge rollers and dress up clothes.  Every now and then, my brother is still my “bubby” and we’re climbing trees in the back yard playing Tarzan and his Monkey. Every now and then, we’re still best friends and he’ll fling an arm around my neck and kiss my cheek.
Every now and then I’ll catch Abigail’s eye and she’ll smile at me, reminding me just how special it is to stop and look back.
And every now and then I’ll take my own Daddy’s hand, just to help myself remember.