When Seasons Linger

Inside: There are times when life slows down and seasons linger. . .

Sunset out in the country when summer lingers. — View of the pasture from Mom’s back yard.

I’ll let you in on a secret. . . . I’m not busy.

It’s not that I chose this season of slow. In fact, I’ve spent a lot of time questioning it. Everyone around me is busy–busy working, traveling, writing, doing.

Not me.

Early summer was a flurry of activity getting ready for Mom’s birthday party and visiting with my brothers and their families from out of town, plus editing projects. But then I got a case of hives that caused my face to swell, and we went to the emergency room for a long night.

Since then everything has slowed down. The Fourth came and went with a showery day and a quiet barbecue for two. July actually didn’t fly by. It crawled, really.

August arrived, bringing my brother and his two girls back again for a short visit while he worked on Mom’s house. Then the three of them persuaded Mom to go back with them for ten days while I agreed to take care of the animals for her. So I started making plans, jotting down a list of what I wanted to accomplish in those ten days. I’d be super focused, tackling some long overdue projects, plus writing and yard work and decluttering. My plan was to stick close to the farm for the duration because of the animals, so it made sense to get things done around home.

But it didn’t happen. Instead, a sadness came over me that I couldn’t shake, and I had trouble focusing on anything. To make matters worse, Mom’s dog was upset, her owner missing. Three of the kittens had matted eyes and needed some TLC. I hated leaving them to walk the short path from her house back to mine, so I found myself lingering on her porch swing, holding little kitties, staring over the fields to the north, tears spilling out occasionally.

Orange striped kitten sleeping. — Hard to resist a sleeping kitten.

Hours I spent that way, looking over the bean field, watching the wind play over the leaves in waves as thoughts drifted through my mind. Somewhere in the course of these moments I’d swing back around to I need to get some things done.

There’s nothing that can’t wait, the Lord would answer.

My friend Joy in her book Living Free. . . Standing Tall talks about a similar time when she was between jobs: “To my amazement, I didn’t fall into the ditch of depression. I reveled in having hours to myself. What then seemed merely a time to rest and get organized turned out to be the beginning of my long, slow healing process. . . . My condo had a delightful sunroom with windows on three sides looking out onto beautiful, tall trees. This became my therapy room as I spent countless hours watching the pine needles grow.”

It had been a solitary time, those ten days. I talked to only two people–my sister-in-law briefly and Mike who I didn’t see much due to working longer hours that week. It was obvious to me those days were set apart just for me. This whole slow, lingering summer, in fact.

On that final day of taking care of the animals, I again found myself staring out over the land–my uncle’s bean field next to us, my cousin’s cornfield beyond that. Acres and acres of abundance as far as my eyes could see. I couldn’t help thinking of God’s goodness to generations of my family . . . to us.

And to me.

The flow of thoughts is like breathing to us thinkers. Why do I so often compare myself to doers? Being productive. . . Doing. . .

There will be plenty of time for that, the Lord assures me.

September has arrived. I’ll wait and see.