This time of year holds its own charm.
Cicadas singing in late afternoon. Trees vibrating as the rhythmic hum reminds us that autumn will soon be approaching.
Summer is drawing to a close.
Before long, the smell of newly sharpened pencils will fill the air. And crisp, smooth pages will await the writing of yet another story.
Each year before school begins we have a few traditions around our house.
The first of which is a ride on a hundred-year-old paddle wheel boat.
At sunset.
Always a peaceful excursion.
Water swirling as the great wooden wheel pushes us steadily along. Music from a bygone era plays. Colors of the sky blending like a Monet on the surface.
Evening stars begin to shine.
Families of swans glide effortlessly past. Their necks curved and elegant. White satin feathers reflecting the milky moonlight.
But there is another favorite seasonal engagement.
The Perseids.
Meteor showers that magically light just a handful of August nights.
I was reminded of this enchanting event while talking with a friend recently. As we walked the edges of her property, we admired the vast expanse of sky.
She shared a summertime memory of her own.
I can imagine the air was heavy as they loaded up the mattress into the bed of that old pick-up truck.
Popcorn popped, heaped high in bowls. Pillows grabbed from random rooms and soon they were headed out the door.
Hopping in the truck, they took a drive to the back of the farm.
Way back.
80 acres back.
And that night into the wee hours, they watched the meteor showers together. Quiet chatter. Fingers pointing upward. Eyes wide with wonder.
Then exclamations of delight!
A pause. Then again.
Fleeting fireballs brilliantly blazing across a midnight field of shimmering diamonds.
Right smack dab in the middle of a sweltering summer. The days rolling into one another.
A marvel of Heaven spliced into an otherwise ordinary day.
…
When she was young, my darling Emma was fascinated with space and everything in it.
The solar system set her tiny heart in orbit.
Many nights were spent in blissful wonder as she pondered the planets. Glow-in-the-dark orbs dangling in orderly fashion from her ceiling.
Pluto is still her favorite.
Out at the end of the dock she would gaze at the night sky.
And she couldn’t rest until she understood the mystery behind the northern lights.
Before she was born, I painted her bedroom ceiling a sky of blue. Wispy white clouds scattered above her in the day.
And with the coming of night…that ceiling became a showpiece. Glowing constellations shone brightly above her even when the skies outside were pouring rain.
The stars were her nightlights.
I’m certain she wished on each one.
Then one day, she came to tell me that she needed something else.
My darling girl desperately wanted me to paint a comet on her ceiling. A fiery ball of ice and dust with a radiant tail of gas trailing behind.
Yep.
She needed a Heavenly display of power and beauty.
We seek such wonders in our lives.
Looking for glimmers of hope in the most desolate times.
In the aching for change. When the winding path of pain that we’re traversing seems to have no end. Each day wrapped with worry.
Or when the monotony of our days becomes numbing. The tingling of newness far outside our reach. We can’t see beyond the perpetual groaning of responsibility.
Our destiny seemingly dismal.
We find ourselves seeking refreshment.
At least in the beginning.
But after a while, living in the routine of our struggle we forget to look up. Our eyes turned down day-after-day. We often forget about searching the horizon.
Our head hanging.
Consumed with exhaustion and angst. Joy seems elusive.
Happiness a distant memory.
Hope erased.
It was this time of year.
Nine summers ago.
My marriage was on the verge of collapse. Honestly, perhaps we were past collapse and I had just refused to see it.
When I’m in the painful places of life I tend to shut down.
To shut off.
I am a master of ignoring what’s really happening. All too often, the only reality I see is the one inside my head. And it’s usually not congruent with what anyone else might be observing from the outside.
August came, and God knew I’d been hiding too long.
The pain was real and God had shown me that it was time to leave. For our safety. For my sanity.
But how?
How do you unravel the life of the sweet six-year-old-little girl in your arms? How do you tell her that her daddy is leaving with his things? How do you un-do the thing that you thought was a marriage?
A life? A love?
…
In that transitional and miraculous time of growth, God showed me that He had a plan.
That He was right there with me.
And once again, in classic fashion…He used my Sweet Louise.
Emma had been learning all about the life cycle of butterflies in preschool.
She was mesmerized by the possibility of such incredible change. And we had been given an opportunity to experience this miracle at home.
Just weeks before, we had ventured to the park for a picnic.
As we lay laughing on the old scalloped-edged quilt in the grass, Emma caught a glimpse of a monarch.
Fluttering wings of black and orange. Translucent brilliance floating in the streams of sunlight. It stopped and landed on a milkweed plant.
My girl was off and running!
The warm summer sun kissed her shoulders as she made her way through the tall grasses. Cornflowers bending. Their periwinkle smiles bowing to her innocence. Queen Ann’s lace brushing her dress, leaving traces of perfume.
Finally, the magical destination.
The monarch mama had laid her eggs on the underside of a broad, green leaf. Emma plucked it from the stem, cradling it all the way home.
To hatch with love.
Weeks passed as we watched the metamorphosis.
The once vibrant caterpillar would transform before our eyes to become a delicate jade-green chrysalis. Golden droplets like royal jewels crowned the top.
It hung safely from the branch above. Waiting.
Anticipating change.
Fully faithful to the beauty that would emerge.
It was in that process that I came out of my reality and into His.
My Heavenly Father, Creator of comets and master of meteors was bringing a lesson of trust into my midst.
Just as that monarch had to patiently wait for change, so must I.
I need not try to arrange the details of my voyage. Nor fear the next steps.
For He was with me!
Carefully holding our lives safely and gently in His hands.
Years passed as He masterfully carried out His plan.
Placing people on our path.
And teachings on our trail.
All the while, leading us to the other side. The often uphill journey has nevertheless been dappled with His glory.
Sprinkled with His precious love.
Psalm 148:3
Let me hear Your lovingkindness in the morning; For I trust in You; Teach me the way in which I should walk; For to You I lift up my soul.
…
Emma and I were at the park again just the other day.
Like all those warm summers ago. Another memory was made as we laughed and talked.
Another almost-August.
But this time we were riding our bicycles.
Beneath boughs and hugging turns we pedaled through the afternoon. Gears ticked as we rose up over hills. Woodchucks watched.
The wind blowing past rustled those same tall grasses ~ the ones like the monarch year.
We stopped to rest in the shade.
A grassy patch near the edge of the wood called us and we laid down in the cool and green. A welcome respite to our tired bodies.
Later looking around, we spotted some wild raspberries near the trail.
We picked and tasted.
And tasted some more.
A delicious, juicy treat after our ride. We scouted for more in the brambles. Hidden in the shadowy spaces. An arms-length past the prickles.
Serendipity.
…
And there it was again.
His reality repeating itself. His Grace covering us.
Just like the monarch. And the comet. The raspberries were tangible extensions of God’s faithfulness ~ markers of place to show us His grace and provision.
Fleeting sweetness in our lives.
Perhaps these blessings can be seen in simple moments. Tiny gems of nature.
Yet sometimes they are larger, more poignant metaphors.
Like the fleeting moments of our children’s lives illuminating our own.
Years passing quickly in treasured time with our aging parents. Opportunities to be present at the birth of a new life into this world. Or being there to witness the last breath as a loved one passes from this life to our Father’s arms.
Maybe it’s the chance to caress the face of a hurting friend.
Holding a hand in silence as the pain passes.
The joyful beginnings of a wedding.
The deserved accomplishment of a graduation.
These are the raspberry comets.
The everyday miracles.
1 Chronicles 16:34
O give thanks to the LORD, for He is good; for His lovingkindness is everlasting.
This life.
This amazing, jaw-dropping, beautiful experience on our planet.
Oh, what a gift it is!
And in-between the monotony. Under the covers of sorrow. Amidst the grandeur of Creation…He holds a place for us.
And as if that weren’t enough, our Savior offers us little glimpses of Heaven.
Not just in today. But in all of our days and years to come.
May we be keenly aware.
Observant in the surrender.
Like searching for berries, or watching for shooting stars, we anticipate His blessings because He promises us.
His Word is true!
His breath of wonder on these, our days.
May we find glory along this journey.
Surrendering to grace, and all of the shooting stars our eyes can behold.
My Sweet Louise 
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