Apples on the Porch
It's difficult to not live in the past. It's tough to just look at today and not put a template of fear over your life.
My mind is spinning with memories from years ago when the first day of School was in August and fall was in the air in Colorado. Andrea would draw apples with chalk on our front porch, symbolizing the kids going back to school. Those were exciting days filled with new clothes and backpacks and anticipation of the year ahead. In 2008 those days came crashing to a close.
Today, July 18, 2011, the kids go back to school for the first time since 2008. They've been taught at home in our safe environment for the past two years. Safe in the sense of toxins, chemicals, and odors from the outside world. We created as perfect a bubble as we could.
Last night, Andrea drew three apples on the front porch. These are desert apples. It's not even close to fall. It was above 100 degrees yesterday. But the feeling of anticipation and excitement is the same. The kids were up before 6 AM, getting ready, putting on their new clothes. Getting backpacks prepared.
I do not know if this will last. They may come home this afternoon with bloody noses. We've had an air purifier in the classrooms over the weekend and have done everything humanly possible to prepare the teachers and administration. Now we take a step into the unknown again.
There's something about the 18th that feels right. Andrea and I were engaged on the 18th. We broke up on the 18th. We were married on the 18th. None of our children have been born on the 18th, but I think that's an anomaly. Through our dating and married years, pivotal things happen on the 18th. An offer on a house. A book contract signed. Some milestone with the children. The 18th has held a special place for us, and it does so today.
At the same time I look at this beginning, this step of faith, I think of my father and a childhood friend who are slipping from our lives. There is no talk of going back to school for my friend, Mike, who is now in hospice. There is only talk of a pain-free life, that he is resting comfortably. How can life go on when his family is in such pain? And my father has come out of another hospitalization, confused, unsure of where home is.
Perhaps there are apples in each of our lives, drawn with chalk on the front porch of our lives, signaling something new, something good that feels terribly wrong. Seeing those drawings takes faith. Stepping across them takes will-power.
I don't think we're stepping across them alone.
My mind is spinning with memories from years ago when the first day of School was in August and fall was in the air in Colorado. Andrea would draw apples with chalk on our front porch, symbolizing the kids going back to school. Those were exciting days filled with new clothes and backpacks and anticipation of the year ahead. In 2008 those days came crashing to a close.
Today, July 18, 2011, the kids go back to school for the first time since 2008. They've been taught at home in our safe environment for the past two years. Safe in the sense of toxins, chemicals, and odors from the outside world. We created as perfect a bubble as we could.
Last night, Andrea drew three apples on the front porch. These are desert apples. It's not even close to fall. It was above 100 degrees yesterday. But the feeling of anticipation and excitement is the same. The kids were up before 6 AM, getting ready, putting on their new clothes. Getting backpacks prepared.
I do not know if this will last. They may come home this afternoon with bloody noses. We've had an air purifier in the classrooms over the weekend and have done everything humanly possible to prepare the teachers and administration. Now we take a step into the unknown again.
There's something about the 18th that feels right. Andrea and I were engaged on the 18th. We broke up on the 18th. We were married on the 18th. None of our children have been born on the 18th, but I think that's an anomaly. Through our dating and married years, pivotal things happen on the 18th. An offer on a house. A book contract signed. Some milestone with the children. The 18th has held a special place for us, and it does so today.
At the same time I look at this beginning, this step of faith, I think of my father and a childhood friend who are slipping from our lives. There is no talk of going back to school for my friend, Mike, who is now in hospice. There is only talk of a pain-free life, that he is resting comfortably. How can life go on when his family is in such pain? And my father has come out of another hospitalization, confused, unsure of where home is.
Perhaps there are apples in each of our lives, drawn with chalk on the front porch of our lives, signaling something new, something good that feels terribly wrong. Seeing those drawings takes faith. Stepping across them takes will-power.
I don't think we're stepping across them alone.
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