Dear Reader-
I sincerely
believe that no season will ever completely lose its charm for me. Just about
that time in August when I’m certain that I’ll die of heat stroke, it starts to
feel like sweater weather, and when I’m convinced that the sub-zero wind chill
is going to give me hypothermia the next time I walk out the door, God brings
the gracious thaw.
Naturally,
I complain right along with the rest of our farming community: when it doesn’t
rain, it’s much too dry, but when it finally does, it came at the wrong time
and everyone’s crops are ruined. Ah, I love the Midwest.
I’m
learning, though, to find beauty in every season- not just spring, summer, fall
and winter, either. But let’s begin with the beginning.
For as long
as I can remember, summer has always meant freedom to me. All of us kids were
released to ride bikes or horses, go to the pool, have friends over IN THE
MIDDLE OF THE WEEK (gasp) and just generally be kids. It was wonderful.
By the time
we hit middle school, though, things started to change a little. Most of the
boys my age were helping their families with harvest, so we didn’t see much of
them anymore (which of course was fine because who wants those boy cooties
anyway?) The highlight of my summer became the week I spent at church camp each
year. I could write a whole novel on how much I loved church camp, but I’ll
spare you the details. Whatever your version of classic summer camp is in your
imagination, it was that, and I soaked in every moment of it.
Our high
school years brought even more changes for my friends and me. Our version of
summer fun became more about being social than entertaining ourselves, and our
community provided plenty of opportunities for that. Everything from a weekly
city band performance to a friend’s baseball game was made into a social
engagement. Typically, after events like this, we would go to Sonic for
half-price shakes (after 8 pm, an excellent deal for students with limited
funds), or to the local snow-cone shop.
The title
of this post, though, is two-fold. I love summer, yes. But another thing that
adds to the charm for me is that nearly every wedding I’ve been to has been
held in June, July, or August. This past weekend, I attended the marriage of
one of the “Big Girls” from my childhood. Be honest- you can relate. When you
were six years old, you looked up at that middle school girl and desperately
aspired to be like her. My friend was married to a wonderful man in our home
church, and the reception was held at a stunning location just outside our
town.
Perched on
the low stone wall that curved around the outdoor dance floor, watching the
young couples as the evening light faded to gold, the reality of it hit me. It
goes fast. People will tell you that time flies, and we’ll continue to dismiss
the concept with a wave of the hand. But when you look back in the realization
that your childhood is gone… It’s a bit sobering.
But when
you’re at a wedding, joy follows closely on the heels of solemnity. Before I
knew it, my friends and I were up and line dancing to “Copperhead Road” till
our feet were sore and our sides hurt from laughter. Growing up means a lot of
changes, but you never know what God has in store around each corner. And
whether it’s line dancing with my best friends or one day (prayerfully) a slow
song with my beloved, I’ll keep dancing.
Rain or
shine, come wind or tears or heartbreak, that’s where I’ll be- lost somewhere
deep in this incredibly intricate, beautifully choreographed dance that my
Savior has written out for me. I can’t see it all now, and maybe I never will.
But I’m trusting that the One who chose the steps and wrote the music sees the
whole picture.
“I hope you still feel small
when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I
hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give
faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice
to sit it out or dance…
Dance.... I hope you dance.”
-I Hope You Dance, Lee Ann
Womack
Until next
time,
Brooklyn
