"Did you get your peaches done?" I asked my friend as I passed her at church, referring
to an ambition she'd recently mentioned.
"No," she said, shaking her head.
I looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to reaffirm its place on the to-do list, to mention a new tackle-the-task date. Then, with blushing cheeks and twinkling eyes, she added, "I crossed it off my list."
After my eyebrows settled, I grinned. Really? Had she sent that job to Neverland with a
simple strikethrough?
Yes!
It was late summer, when for mothers the word hectic becomes a reality. It is the time of
times: harvest time, canning time, start-school time, and for some of us, vacation time. As summer spirals into autumn, a flurry of activity swirls in its path. How many mothers have felt, as I have, that autumn's cheer is overclouded by swelling schedules? Oh, how we wish for September's symphony to synchronize with the longings of our hearts! A soft melody, perhaps, with gently spaced notes to serenade us into fall.
Instead our calendars and notebooks threaten to turn our song into cacophony. Dates
and tasks - all out of tune and tempo - appear like unwelcome notes in an otherwise beautiful playing act. Must we always be at the mercy of these appending strains?
On one shoulder ideality sits, cheering, "No!" On the other reality, less certain, whispers,
"Let's see. Can I expect relief amid the seemingly necessary duties of life? Are all of them essential? Which notes may I nix?"
In considering these questions, a powerful word comes to mind. That word is decide.
After recently learning the derivation of this everyday word, I've never viewed decisions in the same way.
Let's examine this fascinating word. Decide is rooted in Latin. It combines de-, meaning
"off," with cide, from caedere, which means to "cut" or "kill." So decide literally means to "cut off." It is related to such murderous words as pesticide, arachnicide, insecticide, genocide, and homicide. To decide, my son's spelling book defines, is to cut away all else and choose one thing.
Now, this might remind us of the concept of prioritizing. But aren't we inspired when an
old lesson appears in a new package, wrapped in shiny paper with a bow on top? Anew I am reminded that when I choose to do one thing, I necessarily forgo another. I must perceive which tasks are dearest, and in doing so, carve others away.
I should admit, now, that autumn - and the weeks leading into it - is my favorite season
of the year. No other time evokes a sense of wonder in me than one where poetry peeks out from behind every corner. Hot air that gradually crispens, the steady chorus of crickets, the aura of a bountiful harvest... ahh... this is where it's at! Trees grow heavy with color, apples ripen,and the sky nearly bursts with a brilliant periwinkle blue I can feel. As daylight tiptoes away earlier each evening and frost begins to present herself, I long to curl up with a book or gather with loved ones in the snug, softly-lit sanctuary of home. As for school? I've always loved its fresh fall beginnings.
To think of rushing pell-mell into and through this season makes me sad. I should care
for the garden, but I'd also like to share fall-themed poetry with my little ones, all cozy on the couch. I want to tuck some food away in the freezer, but I don't want to miss walks with a sustaining friend, past ripening fields and aging trees. I don't wish to relate to the grasshopper in the fable that reveals the wisdom of the ant - but the homeschool must be put in order. Wonder needs gathered; inspiration needs stored.
What is most important to you today, during this season? Your priorities might differ
from mine, but I hope faith, brethren, family, and neighbors top your list - as always. And I hope, too, that you are seeking God's wisdom to discern how to best care for the loved ones He has entrusted you with. But please remember that you bear the freedom to decide. (And don't you dare consult Mrs. Jones!)
In my friend's case, she decided to focus on her homeschool; therefore, something
needed cut. Peaches got snubbed.
When I recounted this story to my husband, he was equally amused. We both
admired our friend who, in a culture where food preservation is exulted, acknowledged her limitations and gave peaches a slash. My friend's line has become a household metaphor.
"Might need to cross those peaches off," my husband teases occasionally, when our
undertakings are taking us under.
"Yep," I reply with a wink. "Might just have to cross those peaches off."