It’s evening and the sun sinks low over the Mississippi. We’re gathered on the porch, and we’re unusually quiet. Still.
There is change in the air, and everyone feels it.
We’re experiencing summer’s twilight.
It’s time to look at books for our home school classroom. Logan will leave for college, and Grant will spend his days at the high school. Swim club will resume. Church activities will begin. Guitar and piano and soccer will fill our evenings.
The pace will pick up. And I’ll long for this sweet kind of still.
When the boys were just a bit smaller, I would have to rush them along. Each time we left our home, it seemed to take half of forever to get from our back porch door to the van that waited in the drive.
A parade of thee little men would stop to gather rocks, squat on the patio to follow a wayward bug, examine leaves on my hosta to appreciate the roadmaps on the back sides.
They’d poke and prod along, not wanting to miss a thing. I often thought, as I waited at the gate, that before we’d hit the street, there would be no stone left unturned.
Now that the boys are a bit bigger, we’re moving faster. And the fall schedule will move us faster still. So today, as I remember those sweet yesterdays, a prayer for tomorrow is strong in my heart…
Lord, let us live slowly. Let us take time to look, listen, learn, to stand in wonder of what you have made, to be in awe of what Your hands have done. Let us take time to witness your goodness in the small moments of our full days.
The rocking chairs on our porch creak against the floorboards. The swing offers a gentle whine. The family remains still and the cadence of this evening is a treasure.
I may not have appreciated it then as much as I do now, but my yester-year boys were on to something.
Oh, there is blessing in taking our time!
There is grace in living slow enough to see!
