Our last night at the lake is always bittersweet. My soul always feels settled when I am in nature. It is deeply real yet unreal at the same time. I feel connected to God’s design. I don’t want to leave His creation. Yet, somehow, I feel an urge to return to my real life.
Our loons were crazy lovely. I saw a beaver dam. I listened to sandhill cranes. I had good conversations with my sisters-in-law. I enjoyed my annual sister time. I tormented my brothers as only an older sister can do. I was able to support my parents through a difficult situation. I snuck around to spy on my nephews when they were up to something involving a ladder and pocket knives. I did rock painting with my nieces.
I enjoyed my time with my kids. (Right now I’m sitting in the car while my daughter drives us home through the rain. She is singing out loud to songs from the playlist she created entitled “music I have that Mom won’t hate.”) We’ve been making good memories. My kids enjoyed each others’ company as they prepared for two of them to move out soon. I twisted my ankle. I had my knee run into full force by a dog chasing a ball. I swam in 65-degree water (I should get some kind of prize for that). Twice.
It was all quite lovely. But I am so ready to return to my husband’s arms. He and I were able to keep in touch via sporadic text messaging. It was good to have that thread of connection, but I miss being physically present with him.
So last night, I stood on the dock. I listened to the loons call to each other. I watched the reflection of the sunset in the water. I crawled into the futon to sleep with my daughter one final night. And tonight, I will be back where I belong, curled up with my husband where I can be the one to hog all the blankets.