A few months ago, we bought a new refrigerator. A way cool one – stainless on the outside, separate drawer for deli and cheeses, and an interface to let us know how the frig is doing. We opted out of the Internet-enabled refrigerator. Do I really need that? (Sorry, that’s another rant for another post at another time. <g> )
Anyway, one of the cool things about this refrigerator is the lights. It has LED lights that go on in a delightful dance as you open the door. When we first got it, I would open the door and literally stand there, marveling at the pretty lights. I would get so enamored (“Oooh, look at the pretty lights!”), that I often forgot why I was there. I’d close the door, turn around, remember what I wanted and then go back and open the refrigerator door, memorized once again by the brilliant brightness. It’s a wonder I was ever able to step away . . .
But after a few weeks or so, the novelty wore off. These days, when I need carrots, I open the door, grab the carrots and close the door without a moment’s notice of the lights that once captivated me.
And isn’t that how we all are with shiny, new things? We marvel at our new smartphones, only to dismiss it a short time later, jonsing instead for the newer version.
More importantly, we often take relationships for granted. Enamored with a new relationship, it becomes a top priority. But as the novelty wears off, familiarity breeds complacency, followed by benign neglect.
So how do we prevent this from happening? By remembering every day what drew them to you in the first place. By never being too busy to let them know how much they mean to you. By finding ways, big and small, to honor those you love. By leading with your heart. By letting your love be limitless. By slowing down and delighting in the light of their souls . . . and the ones in the refrigerator.