My blogging aspirations for the summer have, quite obviously, fallen flat, dying the pathetic death that comes with goals left unattended. The weight of summer presses in on my heart and I am drawn, again and again, away from this magical little metal rectangle and off to the grassy expanse of our backyard. No, I don’t mourn what I’ve gained during my respite this summer–the tradeoff of being away is worth the loss of a few readers [though I do hope you’ll return!]. Instead of writing, I’ve:
- reveled in the new wonder of frozen blueberries, picked by my hands and those of my children
- squished my way through saturated sand on the shores of Lake Michigan
- laid my skin out to bronze and burn beneath a sun that I adore and yearn for in February
- packed hummus and naan and grapes and cheese for picnics
- felt the sting of tears at the birth of our nephew; all new and wrinkly and fresh
- unleashed my soul into a music-filled night at Frederik Meijer Gardens
- sped through the warm spray of waves in South Haven, utterly free, flying across deep water
- laughed until my sides hurt around a campfire, sharing wine and memories with dear friends
- celebrated twelve years of marriage to my wonderful husband, and marveled at my son–only 8–who thinks he’s twelve.
- savored the fried crunch of panko-breaded coconut chicken beside the Black River [thank you, Linda!]
- realized that in everything, the joyous, the sad, amidst imperfections and disappointments and loss and everything in between, God is there, loving us. Always loving us.
As summer winds down, may your small moments be sprinkled with laughter and joy; may the sun shine a little more brightly on your tomorrow, and may you find the rest you long for in the coolness of night.