A Time for Everything

The seasons of my life cycle from birth to death.  For every moment in-between, Ecclessiastes 3:1-8 promises a host of events within and beyond my control will scroll across the screen.  Today is a season for such time as this:

There is a time to plant and to uproot 
Today,  plans to clean the garden and uproot plants prepare for fall.  I will pull late summer weeds allowed to grow.  Yellowed-leafed hostas and a host of other plant foliage will be cut back.  Trees to trim prepare for sleep. I will pull tomatoes off the vine that are increasingly slower to ripen this late September morn.   I will pray the red peppers produce better than they have. The scattered apples across the grass floor will be collected and sorted.

A time to weap and to laugh
I will remember that vegetable garden sits above our yellow furry friend we had to help to eternal sleep this year and our hearts are still bandaged in healing as we miss his ever unconditional big-head nudging love and his sweet, staring-eye acceptance. Time now to cry inside alone, an ache that feels like it momentarily splits the heart and strangles the throat but then waxes a memory that refuses to allow pain in its remembering.

A time to hug and not to hug
Today, I will once again release my son to Chicago as I drop him at the train station to go back to his created world. I tight-fistedly released the thought of his life behind our home walls when he left the first year for college at DePaul; relenting to the everyday knowing of his growing and becoming. So many choices and obstacles and voices vying for his attention.We wait as with shallow breath to embrace him again, watching him silently from afar and finding moments to speak into his world as he traverses uncharted ventures and finding those moments to give the  bosom wrapped gifts of  wisdom we have gained  from our own travels.

A time for war and a time for peace
And the battle of letting go and loosening strings desperately rages for peace once again as we plan for our youngest to go away to college.  The strings keep breaking and the hope of tethering strong new ones mounts. It's hard to  release the carabiner, to squeeze and release what holds the heart strong. The insidious war to let go within is deceptive. The late at night forlorn trespasses on the next day's joy, assaulting the weak heart, storming  firm walls of resolve to grow this child to a man without clipping his wings. Eventual peace arrives after these battles of the war within subside.

And these are merely a few of the purposes for this day as time moves to create tomorrow's own.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Oh yes I do like that. A time for everything, a season of growing. Well at my age it is a season for shrinking physically. I too felt the sadness while I sat on the couch and realzied for the hundreth time Bailie would not be asking me for a treat. Bentley is so cute but my heart misses the "man" our Bailie. And mostly I have realized that my children are not coming home. Still I have my moments. But on gal I tell myself. Move them buns of yours and remember you only get a 5 minute whining session. I love to read your thought. Keep them coming. Maybe I will be inspired to clean up the garden. I love you Ma