At the age of nine, I had one of the most memorable summers of my life. I can still remember how it felt, staying with my grandparents for a few weeks in Ottumwa, Iowa. Hot, humid, hazy days gave way to only slightly cooler evenings. The sunsets were deeply golden and purple, so much so that I, a nine year old little person wondered if the sky was permanently dyed through and through, never returning to the old faithful shades of blue. You might catch a lightening storm in the distance, always a dazzling display no matter how regularly it occurred.
And then there were the fireflies.
Sitting outside on the davenport, (that was what my great grandmother (GG) called the rocking couch that was on the porch) we would watch quietly, waiting for that first flicker. And there it was, one, two, three and another and another, their lights gently, lazily blinking when they felt like it; never on cue. The discovery was followed by my sister, my cousins and I clammering around, begging GG for a jar, so that we could catch a few.
Nothing so simple, yet so satisfying can compare to those beautiful summer evenings, surrounded by God’s beauty and my loved ones. The memory of it even now brings a unique peace and contentment to my heart, which is a good thing. I find I’m in need of a firefly summer.
At nine, I didn’t remember thinking I was missing anything. No pools or beaches, except maybe one or two trips to the city pool. No shopping sprees for new toys or a new summer wardrobe. Although, I did earn a Pretty in Pink Barbie Doll for completing all of my chores during the month long visit to my GG’s house. Funny how that summer, with its simple means, is the one that lives on in my memory.
I’m rehearsing all of this because today I find myself in a state of disappointment. I was feeling disgraceful as a parent because this summer we will not be providing for our children a pool membership, a summer camp experience, the coolest new summer gear from Target or anything else that might be expected. Acknowledging this reality put me in a funk.
So, I slinked around the house pouting for a while, doing the dishes, doing the laundry. Even as the day rolled along, I heard Him saying it. two simple words. He whispered it first in the laundry room. Later He said it while I was picking up some of Mackenzie’s toys. He clearly reminded me again while I was making dinner preparations. When we ran a few errands, His words seemed to waft into the van on a breeze through my sun roof. “Be content.”
It seems easier these days, at thirty five to notice the “haves” and “have-nots.” Being content never seems to be the first thing to cross my mind.
How well He knows that He needs to ask me the hard questions, “Why can’t you live like it is a firefly summer all over again? Why can’t you find joy here, in the simple things- in the gifts I’ve given you?”
As I stopped to consider, I found this one thing to be true: I had forgotten the real source of my joy, my contentment. Its not my stuff. Its not my children or my husband. Its not my work.
It is my Redeemer.
Not long ago my sweet daughter gave me a blank coffee mug, with a pen that I could use to decorate it, and then bake on the design. She made a suggestion that I put one of my favorite scripture verses on the mug and I followed her smart advice. Standing there in my kitchen today, holding my work of art, I stared at my mug. and this is what I saw:
“My lips will shout for joy when I sing praises to You, I whom you have redeemed.” Psalm 71:23
I am able to find real peace and joy when I dwell on The One who has redeemed me. From this place of rest, true contentment settles in and all of my cares and worries drift away. I can enjoy the simplicity of the season, God’s best gifts to me: my loved ones and His creation. especially the fireflies.
daily portion 