Let's Fly
on saying hello to a new school year and goodbye to summer
I finally have a quiet moment in the house. All the kids are in their rooms for a nap or quiet play for the next hour, a blessed event indeed. A myriad of things I could/ need/ want to do tumble around in my mind.
Absentmindedly, I reach for a small butterfly field guide I recently purchased on a girls trip to the Smoky Mountains. Painting watercolor butterflies has been my creative attempt this summer and I figured I could practice with photos from this book.
A homemade bookmark from my son lays tucked inside from last night when I marked the next butterfly I wanted to paint. Bright orange with black lines, it’s boldness had caught my eye: the Gulf Fritillary.
Opening the book again, I glance at the photo on the following page with the below view of it’s wings where my breath catches. I know this butterfly. I hurry out to our sunporch where my framed photo of a beautiful orange butterfly shimmers in the sun on Edisto Beach.
Holding the book up next to my photo, I compare the butterfly markings in amazement. It is the Gulf Fritillary hanging on my wall. I had never even heard of this butterfly name before last night, but nine months earlier God had delighted me with this very butterfly at the beach during a low moment.
Expectant with hope that God may deliver a word, my eyes eagerly scan the description. A sentence leaps off the page: “Having annual, defined seasonal movements, the Gulf Fritillary is one of several migratory species in the southeast.”
Annual, defined seasonal movements. I have those too.
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Last week, I walked with my yellow basket in hand to our blueberry bushes only to discover they were all gone. The end of the blueberries signal the end of summer to me and it always feels a bit sad. Empty basket in hand, I made my way back up our driveway and wondered: Where did summer go? How is it always more challenging than I imagine it will be? Wasn’t I so excited about it? What did we even do this summer?
Summer is my annual, defined season. One that I look forward to with equal parts dread and joy.
I counted down the days all of May as we survived the rush of award days and field days and recitals and end of year parties. I made a mental list of Grand Summer Plans which included, but were not limited to, going to the pool multiple times a week, lots of fitness classes at the YMCA, happy playdates with friends, slow summer days with picnics, art, bikes, sidewalk chalk, gardening, and popsicles.
Then summer actually began. And well, let’s just say that when you take your kids to the splash pad the first week of summer and one kid adamantly refuses to put on sunscreen, the other cries because they are overwhelmed by the wild summer campers who just showed up, and the other kid complains non-stop because it’s too hot (“um… honey it’s June and it will only get hotter”), you quickly realize that not every outing will result in smiles, laughter, and “Mom, you’re the best! Thank you for making sure we get exercise, have a social life, and do all the fun summer things!”
But we persevered, finding a flexible rhythm that worked for us and thankfully, we did have many great moments. I’ll miss these slow days of summer. Where we didn’t have to be anywhere at a specific time. Where the smell of sunscreen, sweat, and chlorine were somehow a sweet aroma. Where we read devotionals all together during snack time. Where we drove to the mountains and the beach and the creek. Where kids learned to ride without training wheels (finally!!!!). Where we had a blast at the local science museum. Where kids dressed up like vets, superheroes, and animals. Where legos and art supplies were strewn across floors.
What I can easily say goodbye too is refereeing kids all day, constantly reminding for them for the one thousandth time: “We don’t hit one another! We share our things! And IN THIS FAMILY WE ARE KIND!” Lord have mercy for all the times I lost my marbles over this. Summer reveals places we all, me included (and perhaps the most), need to grow.
Paradoxically and mysteriously, this is where the beauty of motherhood lies. In the daily effort to love, teach, and walk alongside our kids. To ask forgiveness. To hold hands. To wipe tears. To start over with better attitudes and prayer even at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I didn’t often make the motherhood thing look pretty this summer, but God mercifully guided me daily.
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As the sunlight shortens slightly each day, I’m reminded that a different season is beginning. We will trade quiet morning with hot coffee for ringing alarm clocks. The big yellow bus will greet me around the corner everyday at 2:30pm. I will drive my daughter to dance class every Monday, cajoling three children into the car once more. Aaron and I will both lose some margin and gain some margin in different ways. Some hours of the day will become more chaotic, some will become more calm.
While a part of me wants to mourn briefly for the end of summer, the other part of me is excited. I’ll gain a few hours to get things done around the house without kids undoing my work in 2.5 seconds flat. The cooler weather will beckon neighborhood kids to cruise around the streets each afternoon. Our kids will learn new skills, make new friends, and grow in new ways.
I suppose, whether I’m fully ready or not, the school doors are opening and it is time for some seasonal movement. We don’t enter new seasons alone, but with the Sustainer of every tide of the sea, every shift of the moon, every color change on the trees, and every migration of the butterflies. Nothing and no one is outside of his loving care.
So with a nod to my new friend, the Gulf Fritillary, I say, “Goodbye summer. Hello school. Let’s fly!”
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Update (August 12, 2024)- You can't even make this stuff up. Today was the first day of school and after picking my daughter up at the bus, we passed by our zinnias at the bottom of our driveway and just guess what butterfly was there... yes indeed, the Gulf Fritillary. I literally couldn't believe it. I study the butterflies in our yard every day and have had yet to see this one. I started trying to get close enough to confirm and shouting, "God is so amazing! He's speaking to me right now! I was just writing about this butterfly!!" The kids were hot and thought I was crazy and that we should go inside for snacks, but there was God, meeting me once again. Here's the proof from my wildly blurry iPhone photo :)
