To Everything There is a Season

You couldn’t miss it on the x-ray. There it was, a broken bone out of place. My mother liked nothing better than to walk, and at a faster pace than I ever wanted. But the years left her wobbling, then slowing.  By then I liked to walk with her as she held onto my arm. Too  soon a walker replaced me. And now this, a broken hip.  “Son, I need to go to the bathroom.”

However many years anyone may live,
let them enjoy them all.
But let them remember the days of darkness,
for there will be many.

A pastor once told me “boys don’t think, they just do stuff.” There’s a lot of truth to that. My son doesn’t think about the derailleur or tires on his new bike. To him, it’s a cool black bike and now he joins me on the trails. And he does it – does stuff – with an almost freakish endurance. “Dad, can we go up the really big hill?”

You who are young, be happy while you are young,
and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth.
Follow the ways of your heart
and whatever your eyes see.

Me? I’m somewhere between the two.  I’m strong enough to get to the top of the big hill first but not strong enough to carry my mother.  I think enough, I think.  Sometimes thinking helps, and sometimes it’s no better than doing stuff.  “Sure, son, let’s go up the big hill.” “Okay, Mom, I’ll get the nurses.”

Grandmother, father, and son – three seasons under the sun.

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2 Comments

Filed under Doodling in the margins

2 responses to “To Everything There is a Season

  1. There is a season for more blog posts too.

    • David, this morning I went on an early morning bike ride and ended up chasing a deer for 80 feet. Sitting behind a keyboard just doesn’t compare. But more rain like we had this afternoon makes the keyboard more of an option.

      Seriously, thanks for the complimentary inquiry. And see my new post.

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