There is a Season

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late

If you know who penned these lyrics, you are showing your age…or gaining cool points from me.  Most will also remember that the Byrds actually took these lyrics from a very wise man who ironically, often acted foolishly.  But I digress…or leave you to further self-pontification on this fact.

From world news to Craig news, from church life to school life, from work to vacation…lately, all avenues of my life seem to be moving according to the lines of this poem, then they repeat…on skip.  The constant refrain ever remains that everything is turning.  For instance, this week:

Sunday, we dropped all the kids off for their first overnight camp.  I was both elated and worried, I laughed and hid my cries as we took first day pics.  Turn.

Monday, July 4, Barrett and I packed a bag and biked to Washington DC to celebrate my birthday with America at the parade and fireworks!  It was a fantastic day full of crazy meetings including a friend we haven’t seen for over two years that we spotted in a crowd of thousands!  We also said hello and goodbye to the new friends we made as we plopped down between them in order to share the stonewall/chair in front of the Washington Monument to view the fireworks later that evening.  One was from Burma who truly grasped the beauty of American freedom as she told us of those murdered in her own country for going against the government.  I sighed as I quickly recalled the Ukrainians marching in the parade that very morning, flying their flags vigorously while shouting, “Thank you America”! I wiped a tear there too.  How do we celebrate our freedom while mourning those who lack it?  Turn

The other new friend was a young girl searching her life for meaning and realizing it wasn’t coming from her friends or school. She then asked about finding her hope in military life as we walked her back to her car. We exchanged numbers in hope that she will come to our house for dinner so we can share lasting hope with her.  Turn.

We spent the night in DC to avoid traffic and headed home the next day.  We had plans of hiking, playing games, reading, writing, relaxing…yet we ended up doing hours of yard work, cleaning and organizing the sheds, cleaning my car and purging the house.  We did manage a trip to the gym to lift together, which I actually thoroughly enjoyed, and played a yard game that’s purpose is to throw large sticks at targets to knock them down.  That was therapeutic and enjoyable!  Plans were shifted.  Turn.

Thursday we decided to start heading back to camp early so we could squeeze in a trek on the Adirondack Trail and have a relaxing evening before we picked  up the kids the next morning.  We parked the car and traveled lightly not giving a thought to evil intentioned hearts that might lurk in shadows…this was the Adirondack Trail, for heaven’s sake!  Nothing bad can happen in this parking lot.  Everyone we met was so happy to be there and quick to share a tale.  We hiked for two hours and basked in the Lord’s creation of trees, wild black berries, boulders, and wildlife.  We got back to the minivan invigorated and full of satisfaction on what we had just done.  We get in the car and start listening to a podcast as we drove away when suddenly, we both get a text notification of a $507 charge at Walmart…we looked at each other with complete confusion.  “Colleen, look in your wallet.” I opened my wallet (which felt a lot lighter) and couldn’t comprehend what I saw.  My military ID was at the bottom, my license still at the top, but all the credit cards in between were gone. GONE.  All my cash, which was a lot at this particular time due to our anniversary and my birthday, gone.  Barrett grabbed his wallet.  Cards.  Gone.  It was so surreal because nothing else was missing anywhere.  Our backpacks were there, iPad, apple TV, gift cards…but no cash and no cards.  Some person broke into our car while we were hiking and took the loot.  Then they beelined it for Walmart to buy as many gift cards they could until we cancelled our cards.  After a couple of hours of phone calls, all our cards were cancelled, a police report was filed, and we were at our hotel.  But we had no way to get food.  None.  Well, I had a check book and we had apple pay, but Beford was too modern for checks and too backwards for apple pay.  The manager at the hotel finally said she trusted me enough to cash a check for $50.  We had dinner!  We went from glorying in God’s creation, to hatred of one of His created, to loving another created soul who took a chance on me.  Turn.

We picked up our elated, stinky, horse, and exhausted kids the next morning and listened to all the camp songs about mommy giving me a penny, putting our hands up as a jellyfish, the Lord being the hub in the middle of the wheel, and Fred the Moose who likes to drink juice.  Then we pulled into the Flight 93 memorial where we took the next hour revisiting what happened on that fateful day in September, 2001.  We heard voices from the cabin, saw every face, and looked at the ID’s that somehow survived the fire.  We walked to the marble wall where we saw each name on a single large piece of white marble and listened to the park ranger give more details.  We all gaped at the large slab of sandstone that marked the impact point.  We all got quietly back into the car, sighed, and thought about ultimate sacrifice.  Turn.

Then we got home and Happy jumped for joy!  He wiggled between everyone and couldn’t get enough love, until he did, and went to get his ball.  Annabelle went upstairs to tell her fish about camp only to find out the Goldie had died that day.  She was lifeless on the bottom of her blue stoned tank.  Her sorrowful cries could be heard down the street.  Her tired, emotional, broken soul couldn’t take one more thing. We buried Goldie the next day realizing that she was more than a fish, she was a constant for a military kid that has dealt with so much change, so many seasons.  Turn.

That was one week of experiencing every line in this old song.  I sit her trying to figure out what the feeling is in my belly as I recall these turns.  It’s too much.  Instead I’m going to end where Solomon does, to remember my creator in the days of my youth (I know, youth, don’t laugh too hard).  I remember that my creator sees me, holds me, loves my kids more than I do, will never leave me nor forsake me, freed me from condemnation, will slay satan, gives justice, loves mercy, dries my tears, upholds me in his righteous right hand, but ultimately, He’s my Savior!  His is the measure of ultimate sacrifice, His death on the cross.  For me.  For my sin.  He died for someone who doesn’t deserve it, never will deserve it.  Yet he didn’t stay dead!  He turned death upside down!  He arose!  This, THIS is the good news!  Sin has been paid for!  The victory is won! Praise the Lord!  He arose in body form!  I believe that!  I trust that!  That is my hope in the midst of these turns.

None of the pain this week was in vain.  It has a reason, a purpose.  Even if the only one I can see now is to remind me that this life is not my home and I can trust the God who never changes, who never turns.  Because Jesus lives, I have hope that all our tears will be wiped away and soon it will be a time to laugh and dance, love and heal, it will be peace with no war.  A time for every purpose under heaven.