Summer

Ten days and I will be stuck with myself in my car for ten hours, eating licorice, listening to Relient K and internally cussing at how much I dislike Iowa.

Ten days and I will be back home, drinking coffee with my mom, intending to work out (and ride bike) and probably end up not doing any sort of physical activity. But, I have the best of intentions and new running shorts.

Ten days and I will be starting a new (and short) chapter of my life as the interim (probably interim to the interim) youth pastor at my church. I will be home for 1.5 days before I leave for camp with four of my teens. We’re going to squish them into my car and head up to camp. I’m excited.

In less than forty days, I will be back at school. I will be back in the same state, but in a different state of mind.

Life is full of countdowns. Life is full of “I can’t wait until this day so this can happen and I can see so-and-so again.” That may be a lot of what life is characterized by, but that’s not living. Living is more in the moment. Living is “let’s just enjoy the here and now.” Living is laughing when something goes incredibly wrong because it will make a good story. If you’re not living to the fullest, what is the point? I believe that sometimes you just need to eat dessert for supper, but I think that there is so much more to living that anything that simple. I think living is about really taking the time to be with the people that stick around no matter how much of a mess you’re in.

I don’t particularly like summer, but summer goes by too quickly. Summer is an ice cream cone, melting fast. Anberlin sings that “August evenings bring solemn warnings to remember to kiss the ones you love goodnight.” I treat relationships like cereal boxes—I don’t even bother because I don’t want that kind of commitment. I enter more of a relationship with my purses than I do with any people (almost three years and going strong). That’s not okay. Living is not about writing things in pencil. It’s about tattooing them across your chest. Our bruises become a part of us, our scars are weaved into our skin. Sometimes it’s difficult to handle, but the story is much more beautiful through the wreckage. It’s not a graveyard, but a garden, birthing new life all around us.

I love Autumn, but I don’t want to countdown until I get there. I want to enjoy today and I want to enjoy today with you, because I don’t know why I’m always so naïve to think I have tomorrow.

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