Most people think there are four seasons. Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall. That’s normal. But for this Mama, there are two. School time and Summer time.
I love spending the summer with my people. The long warm days of sunshine, afternoons at the pool, the smell of sunscreen, bedtime snacks of ice-cream and staying up late watching tv, followed by sleeping in and short lists of responsibilities. No hurry to be anywhere, but once in a while and lots of time to be with the ones I love. Yes, I love summer.
We sat by the pool a day or two ago, and I felt it, those days of of lovely summertime winding down. Most of August, we walk that fine tight rope between school time and summer time, and the ebb and flow of my two seasons exchanging…
Summer, my favorite time of year, is slipping away. sigh…
Often my heart longs for the things I love, even simple things – and I’m reminded: It is not unusual to desire for the things we love to last. That is how we know that eternity is set in our hearts. There may be earthly desires that won’t be fulfilled here and now. But, there is coming a day when I won’t have to long for those things, because all longings will be filled in Jesus.
Well, I love this poem below, for many reasons – it is set to music that is beautiful enough to make my heart swell to bursting. As I sat by the pool thinking about our summer slipping away, I was reminded that no matter what “days” come to a close, there is more beauty to come because of Christ and His promise of eternity.
The Long Day Closes.
by Sir Arthur Sullivan
No star is o’er the lake, its pale watch keeping,
The moon is half awake, through grey mist creeping.
The last red leaves fall round the porch of roses,
The clock has ceased to sound. The long day closes.
Sit by the silent hearth in calm endeavour,
To count the sound of mirth, now dumb forever.
Heed not how hope believes and fate disposes:
Shadow is round the eaves. The long day closes.
The lighted windows dim are fading slowly.
The fire that was so trim now quivers lowly.
Go to the dreamless bed where grief reposes.
Thy book of toil is read. The long day closes.
daily portion 