Count it All Joy

We do such interesting work.  I used to compare a school year to a train journey, but it is much more like flying a plane on a long-haul flight.  We begin with staffing and stocking the school.  Then we board the customers and take off.  Once we reach cruising altitude we proceed to serve them for the duration of the flight, trying to give them just what they need along the way.  Some time in May, we begin our descent involving graduation, goodbyes, and preparations for the next year.  Finally, we land the plane, deboard the passengers, wishing them a pleasant stay, and essentially turn the vehicle over to the maintenance crew.

Like the way you feel after you’ve been in the air for many hours, we have to find our land legs after putting the seal on a school year.  I’m still carrying some details around in my head.  I was seriously awake at 2:30 AM last night thinking about a final parent letter I want to send out today.  It will take a few days or weeks for other priorities to take over.

We are T-17 hours now till Allan and I get on our jet plane, for real, to go home.  Today, I’m marinating in the satisfaction of this place, this time in our lives.  If we didn’t have the call of family and home to go to, I could see staying here for a Mediterranean summer.  It would be filled with hours reading at the beach, taking outdoor showers, climbing around Roman ruins we’ve yet to discover, and buying and cooking produce from the countryside.  That could be a lot of fun.

Here are a few moments from the past week that are still in my heart today:

The calm confidence with which my fifth graders completed a productive last week of school.

One last backyard visit, under their ever-bearing lemon tree, helping our friends Rick and Thalia finish their stock of French wine before leaving for Senegal.

A week of getting to know our sweet, bright godsons and enjoying their discovery of Tunisia.

A week with said godsons’ parents who I have now known for 30 years.  They aren’t hesitant to look into our closets, both literal and metaphorical (“Hey Julie, I was looking for a hairdryer today and noticed that you haven’t gone through menopause yet.  Let’s talk about that.”) and freely throw open their own closet doors at the same time.  We’re blessed with their friendship.

A Father’s Day call home to my parents, hearing them sound so good.  Please God, let it continue.

Finally,  my daily Skype calls home to my boys on Lummi Island where they assure me of all the cleaning and grooming they are doing at our house and property.  I love those boys and I will be grateful if the house is clean, but I just want to be with them.



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