On July 28th, after weeks of anticipation, our little family packed our van with everything “fun” and drove to a little cottage on a lake. It was the best.
Quiet, focused, away, invested, purposed, connected, together. I put my phone in a cupboard and seldom retrieved it. My laptop got pulled out one late night when I thought I might do a bit of birthday shopping. Otherwise, it was just Ryan and the kids. I looked at little faces and enjoyed every freckle; watched boys play and didn’t ever jump up to do the IMPORTANT THING I FORGOT; listened to Ryan because he had time to think and talk. We wondered if we’d go a little crazy, stuck in a spot in the woods for an entire week. Nope. I could see ourselves unwinding for the first two days — slowly losing the go-go-go, slowly forgetting how to feel minutes ticking, learning how to let days roll by without any concern about what was next.
Jameson and I were in the lake every morning, as bright and early as we could manage. (There’s nothing like having devotions in the warm morning sun after a quick dip.) We watched for the loons that would occasionally swim by, their funny calls alerting us to their presence. William played for hours in the shallow water. Ryan took everyone for boat rids, including three one-kid-at-a-time trips (which were, of course, a highlight.) We ate every meal outside — but then, where else would you eat hotdogs roasted over the fire? Jameson discovered that kayaking is every bit as wonderful as he’s dreamed it to be. We all enjoyed the lakeside hot tub. We got water in our ears. The sunscreen worked like a charm, so it’s obvious who didn’t use it [*cough* Ryan *cough*]. I read a whole book. We packed games and movies and books in case of rain, but every single days was sunny.
There were lots of “I love you”s. There were also lots of “Thank You so much, God”s.