"It's time to get up!
It's time to get up!
It's time to get up in the mor-ning!
It's time to get up!
It's time to get up!
It's time to get up today!
Oh, you don't want to get up?
Well, you just have to get up!
Oh, you don't want to get up?
Well, get up any-way!
It's time to get up!
It's time to get up!
It's time to get up in the mor-ning!
It's time to get up!
It's time to get up!
It's time to get up today!"
(sung quickly and to the tune of Reveille)
With songs like this and many others like it, I woke up our three boys each day for school. Swinging open the door to their rooms, often intentionally singing off key and as loudly as I could, these moments came to be as much dreaded as they were anticipated by the boys. When I didn't wake them up 'abruptly', it wasn't unusual for one of them to find me and ask if I was alright. Seldom did any morning go by that the boys wouldn't seek me out at the dining room table where I had already gone to eat breakfast and read the paper, give me a big 'good morning hug' and an 'I love you" before heading on to get their breakfast ready and their day started . . . . and, this morning, Nancy reminded me that I wouldn't have to sing to the boys anymore. They have all left home.
I had mentally noted the end of this particular, peculiar tradition on Wednesday, June 23, the day Ched left for the Air Force Academy, yet this morning as Nancy headed off to teach, the reality hit home and the silence of the 7:00 a.m. hour resonated loudly. The doors to their rooms were already open, their beds were neatly made, and the incredible stench of athletic shoes has long ago dissipated from their closets. Much like the teacher who retires in May, yet doesn't really experience retirement until the school year reconvenes, I had seen this coming, but couldn't anticipate how it would feel. Today I know and my heart aches for their laughter, chastisement, hugs and voices. They are each on their journey.
Though I would never wish any of them back to the rooms of their childhood for a moment, I do miss having 'our boys' at home, bringing to mind the words of Genesis 2 echoing across the generations to my heart today (as Adam first sees Eve, created as she was from one of Adam's ribs): "This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . ." (2.23a NRSV) There is something deeply connective beyond the brick and mortar of residence and geography which binds our souls together and causes us to care and long for each other, regardless the time or place. What began as just Nancy and me became three times deeper in the birth of each of our sons. How much more is that so for the God who births us all?
Last evening, as I held our newest granddaughter, Norah Caroline, in my arms and felt her tiny fingers squeezing mine it was as if she were assuring her Papa that the connection continues, the flesh and bone of family is deepened, the heart of life itself pulses even more vibrantly. Though tears may flow in the morning for songs no longer sung, laughter and hope fills the evening in the breath of a baby cooing assurance, the gift of the One who knows our days.
My prayer for you, as for each of our sons and their children after them, is that you know both, the fullness of a home resounding with, " . . . . bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . ." and the bittersweet awareness of silence echoing in the hallways as that which is 'of you' seeks their own future in the presence and goodness of God. Traditions may change, habits are meant to be broken, patterns of living will be transformed, but that which is of us will remain in us as a gift of the Father who knows all the children as, ". . . . bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . .". Thanks be to God.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
3 comments:
Thanks Be To God!
Thank you Don! Your words of wisdom make my heart smile. I too hear the silence of the rooms and halls and feel blessed by the years God had given me with my children.
Sandy Thomas
I can relate only in the years before I was married - how silent and empty the house felt when my family left after a visit. The joys and pain of a close loving family!! How wonderful to have those memories - knowing that they created bonds with those children - now growing - apart, but not away from the home of their hearts. How strong that symbolism is to the community and "home" of our faith!!
Isabel
just reread several of your posts and enjoyed them every bits as much as the first time I read them. Thanks for the grounding I always get from your words.
Isabel
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