Dear July (an Epilogue) –
Okay, I know, you’re now officially a part of the past. History. Archives. But lingering reflections have caused me to continue to ponder what it is that I should be learning, remembering, changing, abandoning, embracing, and trusting as a result of the 31 days I spent with you.
A quick glance at my calendar and I realize that not a single day was unimportant. No throw-aways, no mulligans.
Every day inspired and exposed. Every day.
Fears. Worries. Ego.
Exposed.
But so were joy. Hope. Beautify. Simplicity.
During the month we got updates on dear friends with cancer, others battling Alzheimer’s. During the month we shed tears of laughter and tears of pain. None of them were wasted. None of them are wasted.
You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book. (Psalm 56:8, NLT)
Every tear, every moment. Collected. Recorded.
Not to be used against us, but to remind us, to propel us, to challenge us, to embolden us.
God is for us. God delights in us. God loves us. God is with us.
Again, God is with us.
During the fireworks on the 4th, and the tears on the 10th. Jump starting my van, and hiking Mt. Princeton.
At a family reunion on Green Lake, Wisconsin, and in the solitude of my study.
Sharing popcorn with my 93-year-old mother-in-law, and Fruit Loops with a one year old. Grilled filet and Pop Tarts.
From the 1st to the 31st. In celebration… of birthdays, of anniversaries. In gut honest and embarrassing times of confession. In quickening memories of cycling accidents, and in the adventure of 36 hours with seven grandkids on a road trip to YFC Camp.
In awe. In submission. To the keeper of the calendar. To the giver of life. To the Master of the Universe.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
Every moment was laid out
before a single day had passed. (Psalm 139:16, NLT)
All 31 days. Every moment. Nothing wasted.
July.
Dear August…
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