You ask me what I did today,
I could pretend and say
“I don’t remember.”
But, no, I’ll tell you what I did today--
I stored September.
Sat in the sun and let the sun sink in,
Let all the warmth of it caress my skin.
When winter comes, my skin will still remember
The day I stored September.
And then, my eyes--
I filled them with the deepest, bluest skies
and all the traceries of wasps and butterflies.
When winter comes, my eyes will still remember
The day they stored September.
And then there was cricket song to fill my ears!
And the taste of grapes
And the deep purple of them!
And asters, like small clumps of sky. . .
You know how much I love them.
That’s what I did today
And I know why.
Just simply for the love of it,
I stored September.
This particular September we took a trip back up to the lake house in Michigan to grasp at the last bits of our wonderful summer. We had glorious weather, wonderful food, and precious playtime. What a great way to store up September.
But reality struck when we got home--trials little and big, as I wrote about a few days ago. And it's got me thinking. We never know what's coming up ahead. We might sail along great for a long time, or we might be faced with terrible things tomorrow. Financial disaster. The breakup of a family. A medical diagnosis with life-changing consequences. The death of someone near and dear. If we can store up the wonderful moments of September to get us through the winter, can we also use times of calm to store up something to help us through the storms of life?
I think we can. We can store up relationships, caring for them in the day to day so that in times of stress or busyness they can stand up to a bit of neglect. We can store up Scripture and blessings in a journal to open and read down the road. We can store up happy moments, taking a weekend off to enjoy our lives instead of always trying to do, do, do. We can store up tidbits of knowledge that we don't need yet, but may need soon. We can store up the feel of our child's hand in ours and the smoothness of their skin when they are little. The sound of their mayhem and laughter. The joy of sharing a sunset with someone we love. We can store up all our little glimpses of heaven.
So as I go about these weeks when a dark cloud hangs over me as I watch loved ones struggle and persevere, I don't want to waste these moments. I want to store up things I'll need when I have an opportunity to encourage them, the same things I'll need when my turn in the fire comes. I want to store up all the Septembers of life to get me through the snowstorms of January and the dark sludge of February, until glorious June comes again with its promise of sunny days ahead.