The tenth of July has come and gone. Ry turned eleven two days ago and let me tell you, July 10th, 2014 did not fly by as I waited “patiently” for our first (very late) daughter to arrive, but 7/10/25 did indeed fly without even a moment for me to realize what day it was. Such is summer. Such is camp. Such is life. I got to speak at a FCA camp this past week. Somehow they allowed me to talk for four nights about Jesus, how good He is, and how immense His love is for us.
I entered into ‘camp life’ on Sunday- two days after the devastating floods tore through Texas hill country just a couple hours away from our home. I’m sure many of you have either worked at a camp or dropped a child off at a camp this week and the collective heartbreak mixed with the unimaginable stories and images made the word ‘camp’ feel eerie and heavy instead of fun and free. That’s part of what felt so wrong about this whole thing in my heart- camp has always been a place where new life is birthed and unearthed in us- not a place for sorrow and death.
Our pastor and friend, Ross, wrote a beautiful piece on his Substack about responding to this disaster. It will be far more worth your time than anything I can write. Read that now if your heart is heavy like mine.
These past eleven days I have found myself taking an unusual amount of naps and sighing an unusual amount of sighs. I’m discovering when my soul is sad that my body gets very, very tired. The weight. The grief. The “I can’t imagines,” knowing some people a few hours away from our home do not get the luxury of imagining. Lord, be near. Extra rest has been needed in me. Has it in you? We got back to this small cabin in Minnesota- where we spend a good chunk of our summer- after soaking up and pouring out in California. We were happy, tired and spent. Time by the lake always seems to move at a slower pace and the waves and breezes have lulled me into more frequent sleep than I would’ve thought I needed in the past few days. In the recent sorrow of these floods and in the retrospective shadow of a year moving at speeds we may not be meant to be moving, sleep looks different here, and different rhythms are okay sometimes.
This is the first summer up at the lake where I have been very lax on any kind of walking/workout routine. The athlete in me usually instills unnecessary internal pressure to ‘keep going’ and to continue to move. Movement is one of my very favorite things- and yet- this summer I’ve allowed my body to stay in rhythm with the lake instead of going against it. Slower. Less. Borderline lazy, even. I arrived at the lake with strained and hurting muscles from overuse and (let’s be real) age, and most of those ailments feel much better- probably because I’ve paused. Here, I tread in the deep waters, use my arms to paddle board, make and unmake bunkbeds (which makes me sweatier than any run ever could) and carry loads of groceries to and from the car. I play ‘tennis’ with our kids, walk up and down the hill with more towels, snacks and sunscreen, and pedal my legs in the paddle boat. Movement looks different here and different rhythms are okay sometimes.
As I write this all three of our kids are in Rhodes’ stuffy little corner room playing (something -seemingly- very funny) with their stuffed animals. It is a rare day that our preteen oldest would be excited and engaged to play this way anymore, but her choice of friends at the lake often come down to her two siblings, so she reverts back and remembers what pretend play was like and maybe even enjoys herself a little. We are together a lot when we’re up here. That increase of togetherness makes way for a lot of apologizing for all the nerves we’re stepping on, but it also makes way for beautiful new depths of relationship that seem impossible to reproduce in the comings and goings of our non-summer life. Every year I grow weary because of how much I miss our friends, our church and our community (all the Stocks do I think), but the ways God reunites us and reties broken strings of our family while we’re here feels like a gift I wouldn’t have known how to ask for. Family looks different here and different rhythms are okay sometimes.
And then, of course, there’s Jesus. He knows me. Deeply. He knows that since I was a little girl water (of any kind) speaks to my heart. My parents tell me when I was two I ran straight into the Gulf of Mexico waves in Florida having absolutely no idea how to swim. It was very Moana but without the ocean lovingly dragging me to safety. When I miscarried a sweet babe between Remi and Rhodes we were also moving from Santa Barbara to Austin. We had a two week overlap where we had to finish up work, but also had to be out of our house so we rented a home in Summerland that had (like almost all Summerland homes do) a striking view of the Pacific Ocean. I sat on that porch, physically broken, emotionally wrenched and God slowly, faithfully healed my heart while I stared (for hours) at the water. So sitting here on this rocking chair, God and I seem to say very little, but we spend a lot of time together… looking at the water, watching the tree branches gently sway, remembering things from our shared past, dreaming of things in our shared future, I pray very simple prayers and read slowly through the Psalms. During the school year I listen to seminary lectures, prepare teaching lessons, and have deep, rich, a-ha moments in God’s Word. I love all I get to learn about our great God during the year at church, in class, with our community, in study and in worship. But Jesus and I look different here. He has not changed, of course, but what I need has. My spiritual needs are different this time of year and different rhythms are okay sometimes.
What about you? Are there things you are forcing into your summer that may need to be wisely saved for the fall/winter/spring? Are you extra tired in your sorrow and need to give space/rest to your grieving body? Do the new/temporary rhythms of summer intimidate you and you find yourself wishing life would just go back? Or does the speed of summer flying by feel all too fast just to return to the difficult parts of ‘real life?’
Wherever you are today, there too, is Jesus. He is the very best person to carry our sorrow to. He is the definition of rest in a being. He is the controller of time- when it feels too slow or too fast. He is wise in His leading and beautifully diligent in His teaching. He is right where you are. And He is just what you need. What a man. What a God. What a savior. What a friend.
Until August,
xoxo
Here’s my Summer Top 10:
One on one time with our kids. That version of them is so special and I learn so much about the person God is building in there.
Thistle and Ivory in Cambridge, MN. My weekly stop for inspiration and beauty. Beauty matters so much.
Boomerang Faithfulness. I made up this term of how God brings things back around that you thought were long gone. Speaking at a FCA camp in Santa Barbara felt like that to me. A season I thought was wonderful and done- God brought back around. I was in awe and it was so fun.
Swimming in the lake. I’ve always loved looking at the water, but this year I’ve taken being IN the water a bit more seriously and it delights me to no end.
Ouai Texturizing Wave Spray. I am usually pretty loyal to Kevin Murphy products, but in a pinch I got some of this and I am so happy with it- for those of you wanting to let your summer hair air dry.
Tamar in Santa Barbara. Get the hummus and about 100 extra pita bread. Then, because you haven’t eaten enough bread, walk to Lucky Penny and get the BBQ Chicken Pizza. End with McConnell’s ice cream on State Street and thank God that there is still plenty of good in this world.
Our friend, Dan, sent us this version of Come Jesus, Come by Stephen McWhirter and I can’t listen to it without crying.
Sweet Water Decor’s Warm + Cozy Candle- I think they’re going for Christmas vibes, but it has summer lake vibes in my heart.
Ezov in East Austin. The Mediterranean theme is strong and most likely will be for the rest of my life. Still dreaming about the lamb shank and whipped feta.
Enjoy some SB pictures because the place begs to be captured at every stinking turn.
