I find this September day a tad bittersweet. From my back patio to my front deck, I am surrounded by majestic green giants and lush verdant teenage seedlings. There are a variety of colors in my garden and I am grateful for the miracle of my perennial impatience. And yet it is as if I am holding my breath, knowing the leaves will soon drop, the bees will find fewer honey prospects, and my impatience will soon become too leggy to be attractive.
We can appreciate our days with that melancholic attitude, grasping them with a tentative joy. Children count the days until Christmas. Adults can envision Christmas including the days of undecorating, and getting life back to boring normality.
I was in the Rec Center changing room on a busy Saturday and noticed the laughter. There were children, teens, and adults in the locker room, but all the laughter was coming from the children. I looked it up, and various sources stated that children laugh about 300 times a day while adults laugh only 15 to 20 times a day. The statistic for teens is all over the map. Listening in on the laughter of the children that day, they were laughing at everything and anything. They were pure silliness. Adults have too much on their plate to practice silliness. There are too many worries and filters in our lives. We recognize that Christmas only lasts a few weeks at best. We know that the colors outside our windows will soon droop and drop.
Michael Pritchard wrote, "You don't stop laughing because you grow old, you grow old because you stop laughing." Perhaps smiling when frowning is easier is good medicine. Perhaps composing constant jokes at no one's expense is peace-provoking. Perhaps refusing to welcome melancholy when silliness is an option is the youthful alternative.
It is a joy to hear children nonsensically giggle over spilled spaghetti and farting noises. It is also joyous to know how, as an adult, I can grasp a full image of each day in a balanced way.
Our cautions are wise, yet our worries can make us overlook the awesomeness of God's gift of this day. Matthew associates our worry with a lack of trust in God. He writes:
“And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith?"
A lesson of September 11th is the invitation, despite the catastrophe, to "look for the heroes". And for those who are grateful creatures of a breathtaking (and breath-giving) God, let us always see our earthly wisdom as bittersweet.
In Christ, through Christ, and sharing Christ with you,
Tempe'