Will I Miss This?

Good morning…

I walked up our stairs to the hometown bedroom of our college freshman, and this shocking image is what I saw. Appalling and endearing? Mess and excess? Raunchy and reckless? Most of you might be more mortified than I as you look at this crazy chaos, but my momma-eyes zero in on wonderful remnants of our well-rounded son. As I zoom into the photo, I see so much about who he is and what he loves. A guitar playing musician who is jazzed by classic rock and roll. A lacrosse player who wears cowboy boots and who has always enjoyed dress up days. An artsy guy who captured his passion for fly fishing in his one painting class which was forced to meet virtually this COVID spring. A two-year-team-captain wrestler who won many a hard-earned medal as he grinded his way through a successful nine year career. This “before” picture of our son’s private room embodies the creative renaissance-man quality of our youngest child.

This “after” picture looks a little more presentable and a little less lively.

When I went up to our son’s room for the first time since we took him to college, what popped in my mind was the opening story from one of my favorite books, written by a dear friend who is a life-giving author and an outstanding pastoral counselor. Here is the excerpt from a book I highly, highly recommend.

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Excerpt from Markings on the Windowsill: A Book About Grief That’s Really About Hope by Ron Greer

Eric was not yet two and was all boy. He loved adventure. He like to try things out. And he had a pen. We had just moved into our new home. The freshly painted woodwork around the dining room windows looked like a great canvas to this budding artist. He let his creative juices flow.

I stood there that evening looking at the marks all over the woodwork and the windowsill. They were drawn with authority, etched deeply into the wood. They couldn’t be washed off. I was less than pleased.

Four months later I was standing in front of that same window, looking at those same markings. This time there was no anger. This time there were only tears.

Eric had died tragically in the accident. Our older son, Patrick, was in the hospital with his leg in traction. My wife, Karen, and I were practically living there with him. I had gone home one evening soon after Eric’s funeral to get clothes and to check on the house.

It was quiet. It felt empty. All I could think of was Eric. I walked through the house crying, remembering. I paused for several minutes in the small yellow bedroom that had been his. I sat on his bed. I picked up his pillow and smelled it one more time.

I couldn’t leave without touching it. I knelt there rubbing the woodwork, following the lines our son had drawn. I treasured every curve and slant he’d marked into that painted wood.

I could picture the pen in his little hand, the wrinkle of his brow as he bent to do his drawing. It would never be painted over. It would be Eric’s signature forever (3-4).

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Why did I think of this rich, sad story as I looked at our son’s messy bedroom? Wrestling and lacrosse, playing guitar in a rock bad and collecting albums with his dad, an artistic flare and the spirit of an outdoorsman, these diverse elements will make up Jeremiah’s high school signature forever.

However short or however long our single lifetime, we each live into our special signature more fully over time, season by season, day after day. I cannot wait to see what messy adventures await our four one-of-a-kind young adult kids. At the same time I am excited to clean up a room and have it stay clean…until…we dive back into the haphazard heap of “home for holidays.”

For everything there is a season,
a time for every activity under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to plant and a time to harvest.
A time to kill and a time to heal.
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to cry and a time to laugh.
A time to grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
A time to search and a time to quit searching.
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear and a time to mend.
A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate.
A time for war and a time for peace (Ecclesiastes 3:3-8, NLT).