these thick Augusts
I write this post from a new town, a new home. And all our furniture is taking its first breaths of air since March, I have Febreezed everything and washed all the dust off the Tupperware and glasses. And yesterday was the first time I'd felt it. The rain fell enchantingly from the sky and soup simmered on the stove and piles grew in the sink and it hit me for the first time since we'd been here, the first time since we'd been homeless, since we've gotten married, really:
Welcome, long-awaited normalcy.
Intangible, inexpressible, and yes, fleeting. I knew normalcy was never the goal; I knew stability could always be (and was, often) ripped out from under us. I knew travel, moving, and packing were part of the job we have. I'd prayed for many things to occur after we'd moved here but this feeling was not on that list. Yet it flooded my heart warmly as I listened to the rain and emptied the dishwasher.
I had planned to write about my hatred for this time of year, these Indian Summers, this stifling, hot, heavy month that suppresses my hopefulness and makes me close the shades to keep the heat out while I hide inside all day. The past few Augusts have weighed down my heart like the humidity that hangs so heavily even in the coolest parts of the day. There is no respite in August, no break from the burdensome weight that this time of year always hurls upon my heart.
But this August, unlike all the others, gave us two blissful days of cool relief, gentle rain, brisk breezes whipping through our home. We have been wearing our favorite sweaters and just giddy and giggly about this summertime miracle that has us making soup in the summer, sweet hallelujah. And so I find myself not writing about the heavy heat, but about this sweet kiss to my soul, the kiss of normalcy.
Tomorrow will rise again to the 70s and I see almost 90 next week, and that is okay. Fall is not supposed to arrive in August; it will come in its time. But how kind of autumn to step in and remind us that she is coming, though the weather will likely swelter and the air grow thick, though we may question if this Indian Summer will ever end, we will remember these two days. Autumn is coming, and she will not forget her imperial, royal hues and the unmatched glory she paints upon the trees and her cool breezes that make us zip our jackets. While we sweat and stumble and beg for relief, we can whisper to our weary hearts with the utmost confidence, autumn is coming.
And He whispers it to my heart, though not about the weather. Do not draw your shades, do not hide away until this passes; let the sweat drip down your forehead. Do not wish away this burden; carry it. Breathe deeply, there is enough air. Relief is coming.
He whispers it again and again and I'm beginning to think that perhaps the heaviness I feel every August is an air thick with His goodness, His sovereignty, so thick it's suffocating, killing me perfectly, with His promise of a cool relief, a resurrection sweeter than the most glorious autumn.
Welcome, long-awaited normalcy.
Intangible, inexpressible, and yes, fleeting. I knew normalcy was never the goal; I knew stability could always be (and was, often) ripped out from under us. I knew travel, moving, and packing were part of the job we have. I'd prayed for many things to occur after we'd moved here but this feeling was not on that list. Yet it flooded my heart warmly as I listened to the rain and emptied the dishwasher.
I had planned to write about my hatred for this time of year, these Indian Summers, this stifling, hot, heavy month that suppresses my hopefulness and makes me close the shades to keep the heat out while I hide inside all day. The past few Augusts have weighed down my heart like the humidity that hangs so heavily even in the coolest parts of the day. There is no respite in August, no break from the burdensome weight that this time of year always hurls upon my heart.
But this August, unlike all the others, gave us two blissful days of cool relief, gentle rain, brisk breezes whipping through our home. We have been wearing our favorite sweaters and just giddy and giggly about this summertime miracle that has us making soup in the summer, sweet hallelujah. And so I find myself not writing about the heavy heat, but about this sweet kiss to my soul, the kiss of normalcy.
Tomorrow will rise again to the 70s and I see almost 90 next week, and that is okay. Fall is not supposed to arrive in August; it will come in its time. But how kind of autumn to step in and remind us that she is coming, though the weather will likely swelter and the air grow thick, though we may question if this Indian Summer will ever end, we will remember these two days. Autumn is coming, and she will not forget her imperial, royal hues and the unmatched glory she paints upon the trees and her cool breezes that make us zip our jackets. While we sweat and stumble and beg for relief, we can whisper to our weary hearts with the utmost confidence, autumn is coming.
And He whispers it to my heart, though not about the weather. Do not draw your shades, do not hide away until this passes; let the sweat drip down your forehead. Do not wish away this burden; carry it. Breathe deeply, there is enough air. Relief is coming.
He whispers it again and again and I'm beginning to think that perhaps the heaviness I feel every August is an air thick with His goodness, His sovereignty, so thick it's suffocating, killing me perfectly, with His promise of a cool relief, a resurrection sweeter than the most glorious autumn.
I love reading your thoughts and while reading I really wanted to come visit your new home and sit in the cool breeze and eat your soup :)
ReplyDeleteI think relief from another season will be coming for you this fall. We are praying for you and your support.