It’s rained every day for the past three days— hard at times. While rain is good for growing crops, deluges are not. I’ve been listening to the pounding rhythm on our metal roof and sighing deeply this morning, picturing our newly-emerged beans and zucchini bending under the assault. The 10-day forecast calls for at least a 50% chance of rain every day, mostly in the form of thunderstorms. I sigh again.
This, of course, comes after a freakishly cold 3-day cold snap that hit right after we put the crops in the ground. Only about half of the starts were untouched in that fiasco; I’m dubious that the saggy tomatoes, which seemed to be slowly bouncing back from their first insult, will be able to survive this newest slap.
It has occurred to me that the spring which did not go according to plan is leaking over to the summer. And I’ll be honest: I’m having a hard time in some moments finding joy in that.
I’m having a hard time with the fact that our local pool most likely won’t open. This was supposed to be the summer where I could take the five younger kids just about every afternoon, because they can all swim independently now and I could swap between being in the pool with them and sometimes even sitting on the side and reading a book. Chances of this happening now? I’d say less than 20%.
I’m having a hard time admitting to myself that my local library seems to have been shuttered until the return of school. Summer is a huge season of free reading for me, where I intersperse pre-reading new selections for my kids with picking up books for myself that I don’t have time for in the regular school year. More than a month into our shutdown, our county furloughed the bulk of the library staff in light of a financial crisis brought on by the coronavirus situation. The library’s website says, “Closed Indefinitely,” which is not reassuring in the least. Nearby libraries are slowly offering services but ours? Zero whispers of movement.
And now I’m having a hard time wrestling with the fact that the tomato and bean canning parties I saw holding are slipping from my fingers, too. I’d hoped for a harvest big enough to share with friends, and now I’m wondering what we’ll even have to eat for ourselves, let alone share, let alone preserve.
It’s a bone dry time, isn’t it? It’s an hour that feels almost fruitless. Hopes seems tenuous at best. If I were to depend only on my own strength, I would most certainly stumble right now. While we are so clearly blessed with salvation, with health, with a roof over our heads, with friends, with financial provision… so much of those long looks forward are shrouded in an “I don’t know,” that is wearying.
I’m sharing this because I suspect that others feel that they, too, are seeing their next steps through a mist, darkly, as well. There is no sin in admitting that we can’t perceive what God is doing; the fault is in thinking that He’s not there at all. I know He’s present. I know He is at work. Right now, I’m just not quite sure what plot twists the next chapter holds, and I’m clenching my teeth as I turn the page to even take a peek at the title. You might be there, too.
My plan for the day is to seek encouragement. I read Psalm 16 this morning, and I will read it again at lunch. I also plan to meander my way through the book of Philippians throughout the day; it’s short and easy to grab snatches of as kids are engaged in their work and activities over the course of a mom’s day. I’ll try to balance every wistful thought with a blessing. Noting the things that are going right gives my heart ballast and reminds me of the truth of my circumstances. I will pray with my husband. I will put on my happy hymn playlist. And I will most likely reach out to my circle of support as well, asking for encouragement and seeing how I can encourage them as well.
How are YOU finding opportunities to be lifted up during this season? What is encouraging you? How are you breaking the hold of weariness?