It was an impossibly hot and humid day when our son, Ethan,said to me, “Mommy, I feel like an old dog’s breathing on my face.”

I knew exactly what he meant. That’s the kind of day I remember. One of those days that lives forever in my memory.

The baseball diamond is close to my family’s home. On the dry, hot days of childhood, the dirt runs with the wind, dances with the sun and flirts with baseball players wearing cut-off jeans and once-white

T-shirts. The neighborhood kids are much better players than I.

Never disappointed to be the last one picked, I’m thrilled to be part of the game.

Then it happens. On one day plucked from my childhood, when sweet clover smells fill the air, I see it — behind the outfield where I pass the time counting butterflies. In the grass that stretches farther than the eye can see, the nose can smell and the heart can hope. Where hundreds of grasshoppers play hopscotch as tall grass waves encouragement. Where squadrons of dragonflies buzz and dip, buzz and dip in an eternal, fraternal ballet.

There it is like a silent blush almost unseen — a field filled with dandelions. Recently sunny yellow, they grow without interruption. On other days we picked them and rubbed yellow all over each other’s arms and faces. We called them “butter.” So instead of batter up, it’s “butter up!”

But now as I turn around watching the baseball sail over my head and out of my reach — again — I see them, a field of dandelions gone to seed. The baseball’s lost in the sea of white fluff as the sun illuminates the dandelions, making them iridescent, ethereal. I run into them, plucking them from their homes. Blowing fluffy seeds everywhere. I laugh as the other players run to see what’s going on. Without saying a word, we spend the afternoon blowing dandelion fluff in moments that stretch out to eternity.

It seems like yesterday. It seems like today. It seems like tomorrow — when the neighborhood boys and I experienced simple joy in dandelion fluff.

I hung up my old baseball glove a long time ago. My cut-off jeans are just a memory. So’s running as fast as I can, but never running fast enough. Trying as hard as I can to catch a baseball rocketing through the air, but always missing. Where dirty, skinned-up knees are a badge of honor.

Special moments in life are timeless. They patiently wait to be lifted out of obscurity into the light of remembering. That’s what I tell graduates. That’s what I tell my graduate. Enjoy the moment.

Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up. Enjoy the dandelion days as long as possible. They are fluff gone in a puff.

My senior high school class motto was, “We shall never pass this way again.”

At times I’ve thought, “What a silly phrase. Of course we’ll never pass this way again.”

And yet, it’s so true.

Life changes constantly. We can never relive moments, good or bad.

Life passes as quickly as dandelion seeds set free with one tiny puff of air.

Before we know it, it’s our child’s first day of kindergarten.

Puff!

Then it’s middle school and science experiments.

Puff.

It’s his senior year in high school.

Puff.

College.

Puff.

Work.

Puff!

Marriage and children.

Puff!

And it seems like no time has passed at all.

That’s why it’s important to tell our children about Jesus. Now. In a puff, this life is over and our next life begins.

Graduates, when you’re out in the world, remember that it’s important to work hard. It’s great to set goals. You want to succeed in life. Good for you.

But in the hustle and bustle of your life, remember that God loves you. He has great plans for you. He wants to bless you always.

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord. ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.’” Jeremiah 29:11.

That doesn’t disappear in a puff of air. That lasts forever.