When I was in college, my favorite cousin was visiting our family on Long Island one summer. During that stay, the family went to the beach. She and I were doing our own thing. We wandered down the beach, talking to one another and enjoying the summer freedom and sea breezes.

As we walked, we came across a pick-up soccer game in the sand. The players had pulled up garbage cans to use as goals. Some of the players noticed us and smiled, gesturing for us to join them.

We hesitated. I’m athletic, and at the time, I was running cross country and track, but I definitely don’t consider myself good at organized sports. I think my cousin was more of a volleyball girl. But it looked like so much fun, and there was no reason not to.

So we did.

The guys introduced themselves – I don’t remember anyone’s name, but I think at least five different countries were represented on the field.

I think it’s fair to say my cousin and I were the worst players. The other players had to accommodate us, letting us have the ball and going easy on us. But the running in the sand, the breathless thrill of it, made for one of the most fun memories I have.

The World Cup is going on right now. While the Chaplain isn’t much for watching televised sports, we make room in our house for the World Cup. The Chaplain and the kids gather around the screen, discussing players, stats, team colors, and who they’ll be rooting for. They gasp and cheer over the plays.

The rolling song of the spectators in the stands flows through our house. It’s hard not to get caught up in the excitement.

After one of the first evenings watching games, the kids went to the backyard and set up milk crates for goals. Soon, they were playing a game. Then, they invited the Chaplain and I to join them.

Jokes have been made that the Chaplain and I have enough children to make a team. Actually, we have enough for two teams. The field was small, and the skill level wasn’t high, but I was taken right back to that place of breathless excitement as we ran around our little field, me with Seven on my hip, dribbling the ball, and making shots on goal.

My team lost. But that didn’t take away from the pure joy of playing a spontaneous game with my family.

What is it that makes certain experiences become memories that are characterized by carefree fun? What allows us in some moments to make the choice to say “yes” to curiosity and spontaneity, and other times we can’t see past our own faces long enough to even consider it?

It’s hard to remember those moments of joy when I’m weighed down with cares. It’s hard to remember what caused them to be so good. Is there some equation that equals a moment of relief that I can go back to when I’m feeling anxious or overwrought?

I don’t have a good answer for that. But when another afternoon passes with our family together in the living room, alternately cheering and groaning as players run across the bright green field on the screen, the crowd, singing low, I’m grateful for the cyclical nature of life. For the moments when I’m stuck, when I can’t see out the mental cage I’ve created, there will also be moments of freedom and joy.

The World Cup may only happen once every four years. I might even forget in between what it felt like to play a pick-up game of soccer during that time. But then, it will be back. Maybe by then, One will be coming home from college on break. Seven will be holding his own in the game with the rest of us.

Maybe we’ll have another spontaneous, unplanned moment of fun, and I’ll be reminded again that it’s possible to glimpse a little bit of heaven before we get there.