This summer has passed so quickly. I’m now sitting in my new apartment, finally unpacked and ready to start a new semester, and missing the sound of my family’s voices and footsteps more than words can say. I’m not used to this much silence. It’s weird for me to be able to hear my own breathing so loudly.
It’s been a summer of Ecclesiastes. We’ve been studying this mysterious, beautiful book in church and at home as a family. As I think back over the truths expressed by the Preacher in Ecclesiastes, my memories of the summer seem to fall into place behind each verse.
“Better is the end of a thing than its beginning, and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.”
My graduation ceremony was over, and I was walking up the isle along with my fellow classmates to the grand, brassy sound of the trumpet ensemble. Once outside, our straight line dissolved into a frenzy of hugs and squeals and picture-taking. I tried to find familiar faces and managed to catch a few eyes, squeeze some necks and sputter a few breathless goodbyes. I finally found my family in the crowd, and after exchanging hugs, congratulations and thank yous I suggested that we make our way to the restaurant. I could see that everyone was tired and hungry. My Dad insisted that I have more time to say goodbye to teachers and classmates. So I dove back into the mass of people and made a wide circle in the lawn, catching hugs and well-wishes and camera flashes in my path like a shark looping through a school of fish with its mouth wide open. I returned to find that my Dad had sent everyone else on to the restaurant and was waiting to give me as much time as possible to say goodbye. We took the long route back to our car, right down the middle of the crowd. It took us around 15 minutes to walk 15 yards. I got to say goodbye to everyone. Part of me was a little sad to say goodbye; I wanted to relive some conversations, go back in time to grasp a few opportunities a little tighter. But I knew God was gently closing that chapter of my life, lovingly, tenderly digging up my roots and preparing me to be planted somewhere else.
“That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already has been; and God seeks what has been driven away.”
I’d promised K.J. and Libby that I would jump on the trampoline with them, and so one morning we made our way across the dewy grass to where the trampoline stood near the goat pasture. Caroline had just left to spend a couple of weeks in VA taking care of a horse farm, and I knew that K.J. and Libby were feeling her absence keenly. Even with all the voices, footsteps, questions and chaos in our household, one person’s absence can put everything off balance—sort of like losing a tooth; you can carry on without it, but it’s hard to keep your tongue from constantly feeling out that empty spot. I felt Caroline’s empty hole strongly, but with it was the sense that this was going to start happening a lot more. I could feel our family slowly pulling in different directions, and suddenly I was afraid that my precious memories of life on Hilltop Farm were drawing to a close.
No sooner had we reached the trampoline than Ruby called from an open window to tell Libby and K.J. that the goats needed water. They sighed and K.J. urged me to stay on the trampoline and wait for them. I sat down and crossed my legs, silently watching Libby climb inside the fence as the goats bleated their hellos and trotted around excitedly. K.J. stayed at the spigot outside the fence, waiting to turn it on once Libby had placed the hose inside the water bucket. They bickered for a while about the appropriate technique for turning on the finicky spigot.
The smells of summer morning filled me up, and brought me back 10 years ago to the mornings when Caroline and I were on goat-water duty. The goats were happy to see us and bawled their approval of the fresh, clean water. I usually stayed outside the fence to wrestle with the spigot. Caroline usually had an opinion about the best way to turn it on, and I usually ignored it just to be ornery.
As I watched Libby and K.J., the fear in my heart gave way to quiet gratitude, for I could see that God’s story doesn’t end just because it stops reading the way I want it to. The summer mornings of 10 years ago come back to visit someone else, and the goats will always need water.
“Everyone also to whom God has given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil--this is the gift of God. For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart.”
Clay's high school graduation took place the night before we left for the beach. After we got back from the ceremony there was a row of boxes of popsicles waiting for us on the kitchen counter. We sat down, Clay still in his new suit, laughing and telling stories and sucking popsicles and telling one another that we really should get to bed, but even though we knew that the long drive to Florida would commence before the sun rose, we kept laughing and enjoying one another late into the night. Emily picked up a guitar and eventually we were all singing along and shouting requests. Clay found the jambee and kept a soulful beat, offering me a corner of the drum as I sat beside him. We laughed as we tried to combine our drumbeats. Someone requested “Faithful God,” and I leaned back and just listened, hoping the lump in my throat would shrink, but it only got bigger. “Faithful God, You hold my life secure, all my days are Yours.”
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.”
The trip down to the beach was hard, and night had already fallen once we arrived. We were tired, but we couldn’t wait to see the ocean, so we quickly unloaded our vehicles and ran down to the water’s edge. We could barely make out the shape of the waves by the moonlight. We children, all eight of us, ran around in circles like maniacs, whooping and laughing and stomping in the surf. Clay splashed me hard, completely drenching my long, full skirt. I retaliated (to no avail), and soon we were all splashing and utterly soaked. The hard trip made that evening all the sweeter, and I’ll never forget it.
“Whatever has come to be has already been named, and it is known what man is, and that he is not able to dispute with one stronger than he.”
“Everyone also to whom God has given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil--this is the gift of God. For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart.”
Clay's high school graduation took place the night before we left for the beach. After we got back from the ceremony there was a row of boxes of popsicles waiting for us on the kitchen counter. We sat down, Clay still in his new suit, laughing and telling stories and sucking popsicles and telling one another that we really should get to bed, but even though we knew that the long drive to Florida would commence before the sun rose, we kept laughing and enjoying one another late into the night. Emily picked up a guitar and eventually we were all singing along and shouting requests. Clay found the jambee and kept a soulful beat, offering me a corner of the drum as I sat beside him. We laughed as we tried to combine our drumbeats. Someone requested “Faithful God,” and I leaned back and just listened, hoping the lump in my throat would shrink, but it only got bigger. “Faithful God, You hold my life secure, all my days are Yours.”
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.”
The trip down to the beach was hard, and night had already fallen once we arrived. We were tired, but we couldn’t wait to see the ocean, so we quickly unloaded our vehicles and ran down to the water’s edge. We could barely make out the shape of the waves by the moonlight. We children, all eight of us, ran around in circles like maniacs, whooping and laughing and stomping in the surf. Clay splashed me hard, completely drenching my long, full skirt. I retaliated (to no avail), and soon we were all splashing and utterly soaked. The hard trip made that evening all the sweeter, and I’ll never forget it.
“Whatever has come to be has already been named, and it is known what man is, and that he is not able to dispute with one stronger than he.”
One afternoon, soon after Caroline returned from Nicaragua, we heard a distant purr of thunder and scampered onto our front porch to watch a storm roll in. The rumbles turned into poundings, which soon became proud snarls and snaps that we could feel in the soles of our feet. I don't remember having heard such loud thunder before or since that afternoon. The ghostly sheets of rain were caught up in swirling wind, spraying us under the shelter until our hair dripped and our clothes were dark and stuck to our skin. We saw lightening making its crooked path out of the sky, and we hugged our knees closer, waiting for the clap of thunder that followed the glistening, fleeting pathways between Heaven and earth.
“The words of the wise heard in quiet are better than the shouting of a ruler among fools.”
A friend and I were having coffee together one afternoon, and the topic of conversation turned to finding contentment in God as a single woman. My friend, a soft-spoken, thoughtful young woman, observed, “I’ve just always believed that if I’m not happy now, I’m not going to be happy when I get married.” Her simple but profound statement gave me courage and convicted me deeply, both for my short-sighted discontentment and for my abuse of 14 paragraphs where one would do perfectly.
“Consider the work of God: who can make straight what He has made crooked?”
I didn’t really understand before this summer that the little annoyances, petty concerns, interruptions, disappointments, frustrations, anxieties, and other obstacles to my agenda are not always the enemy. Very often they are the perfect, loving and crooked rod of my Shepherd. It’s easy for me to turn to Him and surrender myself once again when tragedy strikes and I’ve got nowhere else to go. It’s more difficult to relinquish my plans and strivings when the dryer won’t turn on.
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.”
A time to hear myself breathe and miss the summer, and a time to press on.
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