When May hits, Sarah and I find ourselves absolutely wiped out. Life, work, church, a dog… I feel like I’m forgetting something… oh yeah, raising our kids. It’s like running a marathon where every step is good, every step matters, but every step also drains you. You’re further down the road, but something’s been poured out. Even elite ultra-runners eventually hit a wall where they just can’t keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Then summer hits.
The first few days of summer feel like stepping into a completely different world. We’re no longer waking up before sunrise, no longer sprinting from school to after-school activities to homework to that never-ending evening routine. No more late night cramming in extra work, replying to emails, prepping for Bible study, and collapsing into bed just so we can do it all again the next day. Suddenly, those days are gone.
For a few brief moments, summer feels like slower mornings, no strict schedule, no hustle.
Thirteen years ago, Sarah was nine months pregnant in a high-risk pregnancy with our son, Foster. We didn’t know the gender and hadn’t picked a name yet, so we just referred to the baby as… well, “Baby.”
Our friends were convinced we should name him “Steven Danger Beard.” (We did not.)
We had been trying to have a child for over five years, and only later discovered that Sarah had some health issues that made pregnancy especially difficult. Doctors told us the baby would undoubtedly come early. So, we were on high alert—weekly appointments, bags packed, life in a holding pattern, anxiously waiting.
I love the sun setting later. I love longer and brighter evenings. I love the lengthening of days and the feeling that spring is inching forward with Summer in the not too distant future.
While at the same time…I hated the way I felt this morning.
Anybody else?
I mean, I travel a bit, my wake up time and bed time adjust regularly, but this morning, was terrible.
Tonight is our Ash Wednesday service. 6pm at The Chapel. We will keep the service at 60 minutes or less. If you are free, I hope you will join us for this kick of the season of Lent. A season of prayer and fasting, of refinement and reflection, and of journeying with Jesus to the cross. The service will be similar to a Sunday morning worship service. Songs, scripture, teaching and we will end with a time receiving ashes on your hand or on your forehead if you so choose.
Right after we sort out the candy, take down the cobwebs and spooky decorations, and toss the rotting pumpkin from our front porch, Sarah is ready to decorate for Christmas and start drinking Peppermint Mochas.
I, on the other hand, am a traditionalist. I need to wait another four weeks or so, watch Santa glide past Macy’s on a Thursday morning, and eat an unhealthy amount of carbs before I’m ready to prepare my heart and mind for Christmas.
We can’t wait to celebrate and remember Jesus stepping into creation. We jump at the opportunity to look toward the little town of Bethlehem. We love the traditions of counting down the days and indulging in the treats of the season.
