Summer’s Passing

I didn’t get the great American novel finished, or started. Nor did I leave myself without projects for the fall and coming winter. 

Summer 2013’s concluding moments approach – three days or three weeks, depending how I reckon it. It began in the aftermath of a terrorist bombing in Boston, and amidst a stunt – walking across the Grand Canyon.  Being with our kids and their little ones was the delight of this season – a bout with pneumonia, its weeds.  

An Inheritance?

Regrettably, I fell behind in one project that is a big job – one that I self- assigned: completing journals for the grandkids. My friend Lynette gave me the idea – and have composed many thoughts, prayers and ideas for each, but too many remain unwritten.

Good people leave an inheritance to their grandchildren . . . (Proverbs 13:22; Isaiah 59:21)

Ann Voskamp explained why such a journal may lend a hand to grandchild reading my humble thoughts decades after they crossed my heart:

. . . I write for the woman who wants to unwrap her life again, for the man who wants to reorient again, for the boy on the brink of leaving again, to remind him of Whose he is and the one love story that will always save him. . . (When You’ve Messed Up 1,000 Things  )

So, I went back to those journals this morning – took a picture of the assignment thus far, and hope that one day each colorful copybook finds it way into the hands of these dear human beings who have an anchor into my heart.

I Can’t Say It Any Better

But, let me try.

It’s not as if I haven’t been writing these past few days – writing is a way of breathing to me. But as I have written, I can hear myself ask: “So, what is your point?” 

The facts are today promises to be another lovely Texas day. Today, I have my health, and I know I have my daily bread. Moreover, today, I have the security of not living in a war zone, like the Sudan, and of having the refuge of a loving husband, a home, family and friends. And the future of the free world does not depend on my decisions today.

Where am I going with this?

This is an Ebenezer kind of day – as have the previous five days. Everywhere I have looked, for several days, color delights. And this has been the stopping point for several meditations.

Why can’t I get beyond this?

I could say I feel guilty -- Some folks have no respite to simply sit, think, and soak in all that is good in being alive.  But if truth be told, I can’t get on paper what my eyes are seeing – what I am feeling.  Others have said it better!

So . . .

When a thing has been said and said well, have no scruple. Take it and copy it. Anatole France (1844-1924)

Just for today – if what I see had a voice it might sound like a poem or a violin concerto. The poet Rilke wrote that if the beauty of spring could be heard, it would resound all over.

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.  ~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke

And the composer Vivaldi heard this melody two centuries before the poet wrote, and made it a part of four memorable violin concertos. (Spring)

Solomon concisely expressed what I see:

See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land.
Song of Songs 2:11,12

  So did T.S. Elliot:

           
            APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding 

            Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 

            Memory and desire, stirring 

            Dull roots with spring rain. (The Waste Land )

Earlier in the month, tornadoes ripped through Dallas – almost unimaginable as I enjoy this morning.  So, Shakespeare captured the disquiet that competes with my joy when Proteus declared:

". . . The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away." The Two Gentlemen of Verona (I, iii, 84-87)

Today, its beauty teaches me I am just one creature in a confounding creation, whose origin, conclusion and daily unfolding are in the hands of a God whose power and purpose keeps the stars; yet, He knows the number of my hairs, and how many more spring days I will enjoy. (Isaiah 40:26, 46:3-5;Psalm 139)

My Address Book

My address book is one given to me so many years ago that it is held together by packing tape, and has as many white-outs as addresses. My daughter was young enough when I received it to think that copying the addresses from the old book to the new was fun – so I treasure it for the vestiges of her handwriting.  Even the lines that have been written over remind me of significant changes in the lives of those I love. As someone once observed, “It takes a long time to grow an old friend.” 

When I misplace it – I go into a dither: it’s the only “list” of friends I have – and it is a reminder of Christmas cards sent – birthdays – weddings – anniversaries – divorces  and sympathy notes.

    “. . . But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
    All losses are restored and sorrows end.” ~William Shakespeare (Sonnet 30)

My address book reminds me, in ways a blackberry can’t, how fortunate I am because of so many others – and all they brought into my life.  In its own way it’s a diary, a journal of how much has changed in my life, and the people to whom God has connected me. 

    “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art . . .  It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.” (C.S. Lewis)