Changing Seasons

Scooby and I have really enjoyed our local public pool this summer. It took him a week or so to warm up to playing, but this afternoon he was taking a running (think toddling) jump into my arms in the adult pool. He’s really kicking his legs, blowing bubbles and is just a little too brave for my liking. I think if the summer were a couple months longer, I’d have that kid doggy paddling laps, maybe even doing the butterfly and treading water for 30 minutes… with his hands behind his back.

The pool closing for me marks the end of a beautiful but difficult growing season. One miscarriage in March, a pay cut at Joe’s work, another miscarriage in June, a trip to the ER for burns, two cavities and selling the truck makes me want to hang up a hammock and just wait for the leaves to fall. I don’t think I have ever thought so much in my life – not just cyclical thinking but processing, praying, and analyzing. Never have I been so aware at how fragile life is and how incredibly strong God has made me to be.

There are seasons in our lives that we will always remember and forever leave us marked. My mark is a pot-shaped burn ring on the back of my right thigh. I’ve been branded, and while I do hope the scar fades, for as long as I can see it, I will be reminded of this summer.

Joe and I were headed home from church when I brought up the question of whether he thought some of these hardships were spiritual attacks. He said they could be, but sometimes the things we think are attacks are actually God’s grace. His pay cut may have been what has saved his job to this point. The burn accident may have been to prevent something worse from happening. The miscarriages may have prevented a full on psychological breakdown from exhaustion given my history with insomnia, or maybe they drew us closer to build on our marriage before growing the family. We just don’t know. Either way, whether the hardships themselves were grace or not, we have been flooded with God’s presence and feel extremely blessed.

I am so excited about this fall and my pottery class at NCSU starts next Wednesday night. I can’t wait to catch up with old friends who are mostly twice my age and full of laughter and good stories and excellent pottery tips. I drove to campus to sign up for the class yesterday morning, and the campus was buzzing with returning students. Memories of extra-long dorm bed sheets, walks to Fountain dining hall with friends, and the excitement of new classes were fresh. Then I took Scooby out of the car seat and was bemused at how much older I was. Brushing the pop-tart crumbs off his shirt and cheeks and watching him mimic me as I knocked on the Crafts Center door warmed my heart. New seasons of life transposed over the locations of seasons past always get the best of me.