Beve took off his work clothes Thursday night, put on shorts and Vacation Beve showed up Friday morning, right on schedule. Bright and early. Sure, he had to go to school for that last (pointless!) day when no student nor teacher does anything but be there, but he did it in shorts. And when the bell rang, Beve had cake and sparkling cider and a celebratory speech all ready in the counseling center for the entire staff.
Then he came home and marched outside to trim the laurel hedge in our backyard while Everett worked in the front garden. That's how Beve rolls. He is just made for action, my husband is. Made for movement and action and company and hosting and...and just about everything this summer will hold.
I always feel a bit of a jolt when summer comes because Beve and I are made so differently. When I get up during the school year, I'm used to not having to speak to anyone but God for hours. I settle in to my favorite corner of the couch (or chair on the back deck) with tea and my Bible and let the morning and God wake me up as slowly as necessary. And it is necessary because mornings are hard. I come at them screeching and clawing, like I've lost the battle every time. And the last thing I want is to have to talk about it. To have noise or cheer or even a single question about how I slept. Silence is all I want. Good and faithful silence to ease me into the day that I'd just as soon not have had to face.
But Beve starts the day with a bang. He jolts awake as though caffeine had been poured into his system while he slept. He wakes up so fast, there's not a single yawn left by the time he leaves our bed. And he leaves that bed, even in the summer, HOURS before I do. By the time I come stumbling out he's already halfway through his morning. And since he was at full-speed at the crack of dawn, he's in overdrive by the time he sees me.
And ready to talk about it. Talk to me about it. I lift a blurry eye toward him, grunt a little, pour water into the electric kettle and turn my back while he tells me what he has planned for us. I try shaking off the cobwebs while the water boils, and he asks me to come out and help him with this project--hold the ladder for him as he gets the top of that hedge (the electric trimmer was the sound that rattled me from my sleep!).
"May I drink my tea first?" I ask. "I just need to sit for a few minutes."
"Sure," he says, far too cheerfully.
A few minutes later he comes back into the living room and sees me reading my Bible. Stands there for a moment. "Can you help me now?"
I have just read these words from Psalm 25: 4-5--
"Show me your ways, Lord, .
teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are my God, my Savior,
and my hope is in you all day long."
I put down my Bible.
Summer has come. Beve and I are different. And we learn to adjust each summer. He learns to give me the slow mornings I need and I learn to need less time than I want (not to mention how I've learned that Beve must go to bed early so that he can HAVE the early mornings he needs). It's a balance. We learn it again and again and again.
I'll never be a morning person, he'll never be a night owl. And yet, we'll make it work once again this summer. What lies ahead is good. Even if it takes a couple of days to settle in.
My hope is in Him...all day long.
Beve knows it at dawn,
and I sense it at midnight.
But it's true for both of us--all of us--all the time.