Summer’s Sweet Sorrow

I am sentimental for a basket of garden veggies. Maybe it’s the proof of a waning summer that makes me melancholy. The cicadas are buzzing and every morning feels a smidge cooler than the one before. Last fall was packed with a lot of activity; am I ready to roll with a similar one and leave the relative leisure of summer behind?

Maybe these tomatoes bring me down because in some ways this summer feels like our “last” one since our older son will be starting his senior year next week. Of course other summers will come and go, but I can no longer pretend my kids are still kids if half of them no longer live at home.

Maybe it’s the basket itself. We made two of these for my dad many years ago- when he was still with us, when he could still eat- to help tote the giant beefsteak tomatoes he was so good at growing instead of these measly wannabes. The younger two were just old enough to sand the edges smooth. Our older son was just old enough to try using the staple gun.

Really, I think it’s a combination of all of those things, but the common thread is one of loss. Loss is the center of grief, and it occurred to me the other day that grief is God’s way of making sure we pine for something other than earthly things. 

Can anyone make it through life without losing someone? I don’t think so. Living with that loss, with random reminders of them that hit you sideways when you least expect it, is a great reminder that this is not the end. We can miss them, pine for them, joyously anticipate a reunion on the other side. 

As an epic anticipator, this resonates with me. And I’m grateful that I love a God who provides for me in my grief, reminding me that later is better than now, that loss draws us closer to Him, and He is the better than any beefsteak tomato or endlessly sweet summer. Even in my grief He provides a reason for joy.