I tend to think, however, that perhaps those conversations are less about small talk and stating the obvious than about reflecting on the true desires of our hearts.
Sure, when I lament the swift passage of summer, it's partly about the end to leisurely, carefree days and fun spent in the sun or in the water. But for me, it's also about the longing to do more than just spend my time with my kids--my longing to really invest in them. To know them. To teach them what really matters. To see them transformed as they learn hard lessons and become who God created them to be. To admit to them the truth that I need the Gospel even more than they do, freeing them to freely grasp its power for themselves.
It's a realization that maybe, certainly, I could have done more, and now my chance, for this summer, is past.
And then I remember what I wanted to teach them: I need the Gospel. More.
So tomorrows will continue to come, summer or not, and I will try again, grateful.
126. New beginnings.
127. Singing herself to sleep.
128. False claims: "I'm not even tired!"
129. Last day at the pool.
130. Prayers for the new girl.
131. Clean(er) carpet.
132. Enough moonlight to light the ride home.
133. Ice cubes.
134. Laughing at yourself.
135. Friends who pray.
136. The Lighthouse.
137. The to-do list.
138. Seventeen years, better each one.
139. Saying out loud, "He's a good kid."
140. Not sweating the small stuff.
141. Mohawk mowing job.
142. Always just enough.
143. He is. Always enough.