First Day of School (and proof positive that time flies)

Yesterday was the first day back to school. It's our tradition, and certainly not a unique one, to take a picture at the front door.  This year's obligatory shot:

We are a little nostalgic this school year as it is my oldest son's last year at home. Nostalgic, surprised, overwhelmed, proud--these are the conflicting emotions of the parents of a high school senior. I mean, seriously, how can it be? My firstborn, a senior? Time flies, as I've testified to you before, and here's proof: his first day of kindergarten front door picture...

That was then; this is now...

Twelve years pass by in a blink of the eye!

And here's the shot of all the brothers as they were then, back when there were only three...

I like to tell the story of taking my oldest to kindergarten. Of course we all walked him into his classroom, he marching before us like he was born ready (which I think he probably was), me the non-sentimental stoic and slightly stressed mom herding along a preschooler and toddler, and his brother, our number two son, the only one crying because he didn't want big brother to go to school!

No one cried yesterday, not even me, which doesn't mean I haven't and I won't. I have wept some, out of sadness at the passage of time and because I miss him already and he hasn't even gone...yet. But I cry too out of gratitude. What blessing is mine to be granted the grace and the privilege to mother four wonderful sons! I am so proud of my boy, of all my boys, and I am overwhelmed by the Lord's goodness to us. It's grace, all of it, grace from beginning to end. I think I see His grace all the more clearly here closer to the end than I did at the beginning and I am humbly grateful.

The Lord has been good to us. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

On death and legacy

Tonight I will go to the funeral home and I will stand in line and I will offer my condolences to the grieving family and I will attempt to pay my respects to a lady I loved and cared about. Perhaps I will tell the family of my last memory of their loved one, a conversation she and I had over punch and finger foods at a bridal tea, a conversation in which she told me yet again that she prayed for me, daily, still.

As I give hugs and express my sorrow for the family's loss, for all of ours, I will ponder the legacy of this servant of the Lord. I will remember the years she taught young girls in Sunday School and the investment she made in their lives and hearts. I will think of her challenging my husband to a ping pong duel, she many years into her senior adult status! I will remember her question to me about the efficacy of Jesus' blood at some other bridal tea, many years ago. I will be thankful for her long life and her faith and I will rejoice that her hope is now reality and that she now lives in the glorious Presence of the Savior she loved.

Morbid it may be, but I will also think of my own dying. Will I be young? Or old? As friends and family pay their respects and gaze on my earthly remains, what will they have to say? As others reflect on my life, the good, the bad and the ugly, how will I be remembered? What will my legacy be? One of faith? Or, God forbid, futility? These thoughts both sober and worry me. No one knows the day or the hour, the Bible tells me; I must wonder, am I redeeming the time?

Many of these same thoughts are echoed in a post I wrote a few years ago after watching a documentary on, of all things, Princess Diana's dresses. After musing over such a strange legacy, I make the following observations...

If I could choose my legacy, what would I choose? How would I hope to be remembered? What mark do I want to leave?

While sometimes I act as if the most critical legacy I could leave is something as trivial as dresses or dolls, it is my sincere desire when I pass from this world to the next that others could look back on my life here and say:

That girl loved Jesus with everything in her.
He was her passion, her joy, her life.

Now may I live like it.

Yes, Lord. Let it be.

Status Report, August

Sitting...at my dining room table.

Drinking...coffee, black. Yes, in the middle of the afternoon on a hot August day. Sometimes a cup of coffee is both needful and necessary and this is one of those days.

Feeling...hurried and harried after spending a long morning at the doctor's office waiting for a steroid shot for my son who has a horrible case of poison ivy. What I didn't count on (and frankly, didn't much need): a patronizing lecture from the doctor. Yeah, I know it's bad; why do you think I waited for two hours for the shot?

Realizing...I may have some unresolved anger that needs repenting of.

Thinking...of heaven and the mystery that is death. Two saints of the Lord, dearly loved by many including me and my family, are now with the Lord, both having lived long lives in the service of their Savior. It is strange, sometimes, how death comes, separately for these two friends and fellow church members, and within a week of the other. Both will be missed; both leave a legacy of faith and family. I loved them both and I am grateful for the hope we have because of Christ. Death has lost its victory and thus we may grieve but not without a glorious hope of life eternal beyond the grave! What grace!

Stressing...just a little over the start of school in two weeks. I haven't bought the first school supply!

Overwhelmed...at the start of my son's senior year of high school and most especially at the multitude of decisions we must make over the next twelve months. I am still perplexed at the fact that this is where we are. I'm fairly certain it was only yesterday that he was in fourth grade; was he not? Where does the time go?

Downloading...Bleak House for my Kindle app. I am looking forward to reading it since I loved the miniseries so much. It's pretty daunting, encompassing nearly a thousand pages I think, so I hope I'm up to the challenge!

Getting...up from the computer to put on another load of laundry, wash a sinkful of dirty dishes, run a couple more errands, in addition to the various and sundry Monday duties that are my privilege and responsibility.

Happy August, friends!