By Mark A. Taylor
The last week of summer.
The words have a melancholy ring. Are we really ready to put away lawn chairs and citronella candles, beach balls and squirt guns, flip flops and Bermuda shorts? Can we muster any enthusiasm for the sweaters and coats on display in the stores? Is it possible even to face the first Christmas catalogs? (The holiday is exactly 17 weeks from today.)
My life in the Midwest has given me a comfort with the changing seasons. I would not want an endless summer. I love the chilly nights of autumn and the slowdown of mowing grass and pulling weeds.
But in the last week of August, sometimes I’m not yet ready to let go.
I remember seeing California gardens where the flowers we call annuals never stop blooming. I mention to my wife people we know who spend January and February in Florida. I want to escape the confines of our kitchen to eat outside. But come September, even when it’s still warm, we usually don’t take time.
Maybe time is the issue, a much bigger factor than the temperature.
My wife is a teacher, so, even in our empty nest, we still live on a school year schedule. The pace of life quickens, the alarm goes off earlier, and the to do lists lengthen. The time to linger seems to fade with the roses in my garden. Each August I know this is coming, and I don’t like it.
Younger parents, with kids still at home, are usually eager to send them back to school. And, truth be told, most of the kids are ready for a little more routine too. Of course, some school systems have already been in session for weeks. And some meet year round, with six week breaks sprinkled throughout the calendar. Can such schedules diminish end of season sadness? I wonder.
Church leaders have been planning fall programs all summer long. In most parts of our continent, churches see higher attendances come September, so teachers and sponsors are ready to seize the opportunity. Think of the lessons to be taught, the songs to be sung, the lives to be touched, and the families to be helped by churches in the next few months! That’s plenty enough reason to be glad summer is almost over.
And thankfully, where I live at least, autumn is a gentle escort into winter. As if God knows change is hard for all of us, September mornings still shine, and sunny afternoons beckon.
There’s still time for a picnic with my neighbors. I can enjoy walks with my wife without needing a jacket. I will coax a little more beauty from my garden.
And I’ll ponder the mystery and marvel of God’s good gift of life in a world where each season offers reminders of his power and his love.
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