The Beginning, the End, and the Season

The end of tabernacles generally sucks for me. I hate the fact that the week long camping experience, which is supposed to signify eternal life with God, has to end. When it finally ends, I’m left feeling empty and lonely, dreading the return to work and the same old routine. It’s depressing. I feel this way any time a break from my normal routine ends. I never want the exciting fun stuff to end and I never want to return to the same-stuff-different-day life that I occasionally feel imprisoned in. But, this year, the end of tabernacles was different.

Rina and I have been reading “The Untethered Mind” by Michael Singer and what I gleaned from his wisdom was this:  Don’t fight it, just feel it and watch it… in almost the same way as you watch television. Feel it, then let it go. Rina says it like this: “let it in, let it through, let it go.”  So, this is what I did.  It was sad.  In the beginning, it felt the same as it always did, but somewhere in the midst of the experience, I had a revelation.  Maybe, just maybe, I was supposed to feel this.

If everything has a season, rejoicing and lamenting, then lamenting is something that I’m supposed to do but have never actually allowed myself to do.  All I have ever done is rage against the inevitable conclusion. So this year, I sat and watched. I just sat and stewed in the midst of it. Wallered in it. I thought the feelings of sadness would continue, but this isn’t what happened. Instead, I found something I didn’t expect: Hope.

Somewhere in the middle of wallering in my “why does this have to end and why does my life suck, and why doesn’t God do something about it because I’ve been praying about this forever now?!” It all seemed to go away. I felt a release. This was the end and the end was just that, the end. I felt it, let it in, and then let it go. By allowing myself to feel it, I was actually able to appreciate the end, which gave me another revelation:

The beginning of something new is what follows the end.  All seasons cycle.  This gave me hope.   Hope that this season is going to be good and maybe even better than the season I just finished. By allowing myself to accept the end, I inadvertantly accepted hope, stumbling onto it like a lost hiker lurching out of a dark wood.  It was a beautiful experience.

At the end, Rina bought me a zippo lighter.  It has become, for me, a symbol of hope “a light in the dark places,” if you will.  It will serve to remind me that I’m always in the season where God wants me to be. That each ending generates the beginning of something new, even if it looks as if it is old. By the time I went back to work, I even felt a little excited to see what this new season would look like. This is the first time ever that I’ve not dreaded the return to work. And you know what? I had a good week. “Hope does not disappoint” is written in Romans. Indeed, it does not.

Oh Bumby, Oh Bear, Oh My

To Bundle From Daddy

Oh Bumby, Oh Bear, Oh My

Has Grow up before my eyes

She was so small

Now she’s so tall

Oh Bumby, Oh Bear, Oh My

Oh Bumby Oh Bear, Oh My

Under my bead she used to lie.

Now she sleeps on her own

And I’m left all alone

Oh Bumby, Oh bear Oh My

Oh Bumby, Oh Bear, Oh My

Would imitate vultures as they fly

She was “being a goat”

that night long ago

Oh Bumby, Oh bear, Oh My

Oh Bumby, Oh Bear, Oh My

When I think of it, I start to cry.

One day she’ll be grown

and have a home of her own

Oh Bumby, O Bear, Oh My