To read all the posts in the 31 Days series, click here.

I spent seven hours driving to the beach today, with both my kids. Seven hours of Toby Mac and Britt Nicole and potty breaks every hour because the almost four year-old really, really loves lemonade.

And mommy really, really loves coffee.

We found the beach as quickly as possible. I sat on the shore and soaked in everything around me. There was one small cloud in the sky, and the breeze refueled me. I dug my toes in the sand, unconcerned about ruining my homemade impromptu pedicure.

The kids charged toward the ocean like a long-lost cousin and spent moments that stretched into days laughing and jumping waves. I watched them play and laugh and swim and then I became a little undone.

There’s a lot my kids teach me about being. About embracing every moment with arms outstretched, and squeezing every drop of life out of it. About being unconcerned with the opinions of others; about simply being who they are. They teach me these things when I escape my normal and see from a fresh perspective. They’ve got this faith and being thing down, I think, and I’m often envious of them.

Call it naivety or immaturity — but I wonder if childlike faith isn’t just something you possess about God, but something you possess about who you are? What if childlike faith is so much faith in God and who He is, that you trust who He created you to be? And what if it made you so free you skip and hop and jump waves and shriek with delight?

I don’t know…to me that would feel as awesome as entering the kingdom of Heaven on Earth.

Jesus rebuked His disciples for keeping children away and said not to hinder them from going to Him. But you know what? Most of the time, I’m the one hindering myself. No one has to intervene and do it for me.

I’m going to attempt childlike faith the next few days. Faith in God, who He is and who He created. And I’m going to try my hardest to go to him and enter that kingdom of heaven.

On earth.

To read all the posts in the 31 Days series, click here.

It’s Wednesday morning so I do what I always do on Wednesday mornings — drop the kids off at school and drive to our restaurant. I arrive before he does, so I put on a little mascara because I look tired and also reapply lip gloss, because, hello? and go inside.

Our table is open (I wonder if they save it for us?) so I walk right to it and wave hello to the server who always has a smile on her face. She brings me coffee and sets his non-dairy creamer at his spot for when he arrives. I take a phone call because he isn’t there yet but when he walks in I say goodbye and quickly hang up.

Because this hour is precious.

It’s our date morning — the time we carve out to spend an hour together being Greg and Monica. We shed our roles — letting go of the Mommy and Daddy hats, the pastor and employee hats, the counselor and friend hats, the carpooler and coach hats. Just us being us — the couple, the friends, the lovers, the two that became one — who started this crazy ride over 10 years ago.

Sometimes we catch up on work stuff…sometimes kid stuff. Other times we share dreams and goals and visions, or laugh about hilarious movies we can’t wait to see (Will Ferrell, I’m talking to you). Almost always I end up in tears over something, whether it’s laughter or heartfelt emotions; for some reason our times together open my heart wide.

We tend to get so caught up in the doing of family — school, activities, errands, homework, house work, cooking and all the rest — that we do Husband and Wife and Mommy and Daddy really, really well.

But in doing Husband and Wife and Mommy and Daddy, it’s so easy to forget to BE Greg and Monica. It’s easy to forget we are still two BEcoming one, always and forever until death us do part.

Our breakfast dates pull us back to the core of what makes Husband and Wife and Mommy and Daddy work so well — individual people being who we truly are in that separate-yet-together way. His strengths making up for my weaknesses and my strengths making up for his.

A cord of three individual strands of different colors and materials that just are…and by being what they are, are woven together into something intricate and beautiful and deliberate and stronger together than separate.

It’s a precious hour of being myself with the one I’m forever connected to as he’s being himself.

It sustains us for the rest of the days until we meet again…he and me, being who we are.