That puts me in mind of...

This image was introduced to me at the beginning of the end of summerconferenceforhighschoolstudents as a remedy to melancholy nostalgia that descended upon most of the mentors our final week.  "Don't hold on to it," we were told. "Our hands must to be cupped open, or we will never receive the water."  

I needed to hear it then.  Joy does come--sometimes more frequently and more powerfully than others, and in those times it can be difficult to move on to a place different from the ecstatic state in which one finds himself.  Many times this summer, I thought to myself, "How can anything be better than right now?" The image helps me to remember to expect joy--it is promised to us at some point, if not today or tomorrow or a year from now, then at the end of everything.  There is more to come. 

I needed to hear it today.  The past few weeks have been new--different--geographically, emotionally, spiritually speaking.  Front porch coffee during a morning thunderstorm with kids I grew up with. Dock talk spent marveling at how the moon's reflection off the water allowed the night to look like the day.  Meteor showers, soundtrack brought to you by the entire coyote population (pups and all) of Middle-of-Nowhere, Tennessee.  Four-wheeler rides in the rain.  Fishing in the dark. Carolina mountain views and waterfalls.  Is this real life?

Yeah. Of course it is.  But that necessarily means that they each of these vignettes had to come to an end.  I couldn't ignore the fact that the air was getting colder, even while they were being played out. Indeed,  fireflies are becoming more scarce.  The peaches now lack the purely luxurious sweetness of nectar rolling over the tongue and surprise you with a tarty kick at the end.  Little Sister is once again hemming my old high school kilt.  This, the longest, richest, most exhausting summer of my life is tapering off.  

This realization, undoubtedly accompanied by a hint of loneliness, was answered when the above image popped into my head this morning to remind me that the end of things is beautiful.  It means only that we exist in time and life is only possible with change and joyful things happen so we can remember them when joy is lacking and look forward for that next euphoric burst.  My task today was to say goodbye--to the boy with whom I spent the last eleven joy-filled days (henceforth referred to as my Southern Boy--yes,  he is responsible for the four-wheelers and the fishing), to Little Sister on the first day of her most important year of high school, and to the indescribable adventure that was this summer.

I eagerly look forward to all the hellos to come.