When I think of this summer, I will see sunlight glinting off the girls’ golden-brown hair as I push them in the stroller amidst the queen anne’s lace and yellow wildflowers. When I think of summer, I will see Cohen taking slow, cautious turns on his new bike and Sophie rambling incessantly to no one in particular as she pedals her pink tricycle around the cul-de-sac. When I think of summer, I will hear Ellie’s little voice testing out language for the very first time, informing anyone who will listen that “wa wa” is near-bye and that she would like to go for a swim.
When I think of summer, I will think of cruise nights and farmers markets and chubby little hands clasping dripping ice cream cones. I will smell grilled corn and potatoes and chicken. I will hear the comforting hum of cars through the window, and feel the sustaining and peace-giving breeze that rustles through the white curtains.
When I think of summer, I’ll see the ocean off the shores of South Carolina. I’ll see Jacob and the kids as they run back and forth, back and forth, tracing the ebb and flow of the water. I’ll remember those special vacation nights, watching in awe as Cohen participates in strangely mature things, like golf and batting cages and grown-up card games. I’ll see him nearly falling asleep as he conquers his second bowl of chocolate ice cream or giant blue freeze pop or sweet, dripping watermelon. I’ll see my dad sitting amongst his brothers and sisters-in-law and nieces and nephews and kids and grandkids, his voice cracking bathroom jokes, but his eyes reflecting his intense love of family, every minute, every second.
When I think of summer, I’ll recall the simplicity of life sans schedule. The freedom of going here and there when you please and because you actually want to. I think I didn’t feel compelled to write as much during the summer because the season’s lack of structure allowed my mind to settle on the present rather than fretting over the future. I didn’t need to “process” the now as much because I was actually living it.
Even though the air is still sweet and sticky with summer’s heat, I can feel the season leaving. I’m booking up the calendar and filling out forms, planning future lessons and writing too many checks. I feel my mind being pulled everywhere but where I actually am.
I just walked downstairs from tucking the girls in bed (Cohen is at his first flag football practice, another event we added to the calendar), and I found myself gasping for summer’s stillness. I longed for a whisper from the Spirit, a reminder that I am not what I do and not how much I know. I wanted to be reminded of how I am not defined by the eyes of others (and I will see hundreds of eyes now on a daily basis), but instead am defined by my rootedness in the God who doesn’t abandon me even when summer’s stillness is hard to find.
Because- Hallelujah—He is the God of autumn, and winter, and spring too.