The summer of no plans

Hey, mom, it’s summer, remember?! A boy argues with me about bedtime, and it catches me off guard. Summer? Oh, yeah, summer. The strangest school year ever is finally in the books. And the next two months of blank calendar squares are staring me down; daring me to try and fill them. I have no idea what to do next. Actually, I have a tremendous amount to do. It’s just my boys who are aimless. And they see no need for bedtime. So here we go; navigating our way into summer with no plans.

Maybe you are feeling it too? We’ve been on lockdown for months and have haphazardly managed to fill the empty days. But as we make our way into these weeks of even less schedule and no bedtimes, I am not quite sure how to conjure up the usual summer fun. It feels like trying to put together a puzzle without enough pieces.

And somehow I find myself navigating an important phone call and a posse of boys at the pool. Hiding behind the edge of the shed to dull the echo of screaming boys and splashing water; the smell of chlorine, sunscreen, and late afternoon sunshine wash over me as I lean against the building unexpectedly exhausted. I’m not doing a very good job of this, I think, suddenly aware of all I am holding.

How do you navigate into the next thing when you have no idea what you are doing or what the next thing even is?

A ball is lobbed my direction and instinctively, I put out my hand and catch it. I hurl it in the direction of screaming and cheering boys. “Good catch, mom!” someone yells. Reflexes are amazing things.

And I wonder. What are my reflexes when it comes to walking into the unknown seasons of life? How do I automatically react when a curve-ball is thrown my way? When my heart pulls in one direction and my brain in the other or when I’m told to sit when everything in me wants to run ahead. What’s my go-to here?

The answers come slowly because I am not as great at catching life as I am rogue swimming pool balls.

It’s the words of this verse that fall on my heart. “I am the vine and you are the branches. If you abide in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” 

Jesus, teaching his disciples how to follow. Abide. Abide. Only in me will any of this work, the Lord seems to whisper into my uncertainty. But abiding often feels like sitting still. And honestly, my reflex reaction when life gets hard and uncertain is to strong-arm the days back into submission and then wait for God to notice how good I am at everything.

“See, Lord, I can catch the ball, talk on the phone, manage the kids, get all of the work done, and put dinner on the table. I can navigate a pandemic, start a new job, take care of those in need, and still have time to watch a movie with the kids. I can do it, Lord. See how good I am.”

Apart from me you can do nothing. The words catch in my throat.

Like Jacob, the Old Testament patriarch of the Bible who wrestled with God for a blessing God had already promised him, I struggle hard with the need to prove my worth. I want to win the match and take the credit. My reflex is to fight against what I cannot control. And I remember Jacob’s words as he fought through the night, “I will not let you go until you bless me.”

Jacob fights to the end and the blessing that he gets? A limp. God touches his hip socket, and he limps away from his encounter with the Almighty fully aware that he is blessed. A limp that reminds him, “Apart from me, you can do nothing”.

The Lord blessed Jacob with a physical reminder of how we are called to live in step with our Creator. And Jesus would teach it to his disciples like this “Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” Eugene Peterson paraphrases that verse this way, “come and learn the unforced rhythms of grace.” Grace that gives what we do not deserve. Grace that leads when we can’t see where we are going and blesses even when we fail.

I wrestle, and Jesus blesses. I struggle, and he comes closer. The days that bring me to the end of myself are meant to drive me to my knees. The limp is not the problem; it’s the blessing. I need to realize that no matter how good I think I am, God is infinitely better.

My reflex reaction is meant to be one of surrender and dependence. The battle isn’t won when I am declared the best at making summer fun during a pandemic. It’s won when I quit trying to outmaneuver my Creator. It’s won when I stand in the place where I am and quit trying to be somewhere else. When I can come empty-handed to an unfamiliar, insecure place without a map of what lies ahead and declare with Jacob, “Surely the Lord was in this place and I did not know it”. Then and only then will I be ready to limp on ahead to a victory that I cannot win alone.

“Man plans his ways, but the Lord establishes his steps“ the writer of Proverbs tells us. But here we are on the edge of a summer where plans are held loosely and what lies ahead is unknown. These past few months may have left us with a bit of limp; weary of cancellations, homeschooling, and sheltering in place. But here’s what I am slowly learning to trust. The Lord is still establishing our steps. He is with us. He is leading us. He is blessing us in ways we cannot yet see. He will not let us go. And often he does his best work in our lives when we quit trying to be so good at everything.

May we live into that truth each day of this strange summer. And may the limp become the blessing as we lean into our Father’s unforced rhythms of grace.

Alleluia. Amen.