Colossians 3:14 — “And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.”

There’s a kind of joy you don’t plan for. It just shows up with paper plates and a guitar. That is how it was sitting outside under the pines at one of my family’s old-fashioned pickin’ and grinnins’.

I was across the table from Uncle Benny. He was working his way through the same question for the fifth a. I kept answering him, because what would be the point in correcting him. Right?

The little ones were darting around barefoot, chasing each other with sticky fingers, dripping popsicle juice everywhere. Someone’s toddler squealed with laughter, and a cousin hollered something about fire ants. If I remember right, a few of the grown-ups rolled their eyes when somebody forgot the ice. Bless it.

The heat was doing what Southern heat does. I kept swatting mosquitoes and trying to smooth down my hair, but before I could even be bothered, the music started.

One by one, a guitar, a banjo, and eventually a karaoke machine made their way out. People gathered near the porch, clapping and singing—some on key, some not even close. It was wonderful.

I couldn’t tell you what we ate that day, probably hot dogs and potato salad, but I remember the sound of my aunt’s laugh. I remember the cold bite of watermelon, and I remember feeling so full, not from food, but from the people around me.

When I think of those “pickin’ and grinnin’” days, my heart aches a little in that sweet way. I want to go back. I want to relive the moments where everything else fell away and all that mattered were the people right in front of me.

So, today, I’m choosing to live like every day is a pickin’ and grinnin’. I won’t wait for the weather to be perfect or for someone else to bring the ice. I want to bring my own glad heart, be interruptible, laugh, and sing off-key.

There’s a lawn chair waiting. Maybe you’d like to join me?