89 Days.

I dreamed about Joe last night.

I don’t remember much about the dream. I don’t know where we were or what we were doing. I don’t remember anything he said. I only remember that he was there.

And I was glad to see him.

Maybe my mind went looking for him because I recently learned that sweet Mr. Thomas Rouse died over Labor Day weekend. Thomas was a coworker of Joe’s, as well as a dear friend to him (and to all who knew him). Just after I heard the news, a good friend commented to me that Joe and Thomas were probably riding around Heaven REALLY SLOW right about now.

I laughed. If you knew them, you know there is a very good chance that he is exactly right.

And then I started thinking about Labor Day.

For years, Labor Day held a rhythm for me. It usually found us at the beach with my mama, daddy, sister, brother and all of our babies, squeezing every last drop out of summer. Before we left at the end of each trip, I would stand on the deck and take one last look at the water. Somewhere along the way, it became my special ritual.

Labor Day marked the end of summer and the beginning of another school year, and I would stand there for a few quiet minutes thanking God for the summer we had been given. And almost every year, I wondered the same thing:

What will be different when I stand here next Labor Day?

The answer, of course, was always something. Babies came. Children grew. People married. People divorced. Jobs changed. Sickness came. People we loved passed away.

For years, our whole family took those beach trips together, marking the start of summer on Memorial Day, the peak of summer on July 4th, and the end of summer on Labor Day. At the time, they were simply vacations to look forward to each year. I didn’t know there would come a day when we wouldn’t take them anymore. I didn’t know that some of those ordinary days would eventually become some of my most cherished memories.

That’s one of the strange things about life. We almost never know when we’re standing inside a “before”…

There is one particular Labor Day I think about differently now.

That year, I had been on a girls’ trip with my forever friend Jeanenne at her condo in Surf City. I’m almost certain that before I left on Labor Day Monday, I stood looking at the water one last time. I’m sure I thanked God for the summer. And knowing me, I’m sure I wondered what my life would look like by the next Labor Day.

I had no idea that eighty-nine days later, Joe would go to be with Jesus.

 89 days. 2,136 hours.

I stood there looking out over the water, wondering what might be different in a year, with no idea that the life I knew had only 89 days left in it. I didn’t know I was standing inside a “before.” I didn’t know that ordinary Monday would eventually become part of the dividing line between the life we had and the life I would have to learn to live without him.

There have been Labor Days since. My life looks almost nothing like the one I was trying to imagine from that deck. Some of the changes I would never have chosen. Others have brought goodness I could not have imagined then.

Different, I’ve learned, doesn’t always mean worse. Sometimes it just means different. And life can be different and still be very, very good.

Of course I didn’t know any of that either. I guess we never do.

And then, six years later, another Labor Day weekend came. This time I wasn’t standing on a deck. I wasn’t even at the beach. I was actually getting a pedicure when the text came through that Joe’s dear friend Thomas had passed away.

And just like that, my mind traveled backward. Back to Joe. Back to that deck. Back to all those Labor Days when I stood at the edge of the water wondering what the next year would bring. Back to the Ronda who once stood there completely unaware that in 89 days, everything would change.

For the past few days, several thoughts have been thunk in this crazy, curly head of mine.

Goodness, we spend so much of our lives looking ahead. We wonder what’s coming. What will change? Who will stay? Who will leave? What will our families look like? Where will we be? What will we do differently?. Will the thing we’re worried about ever work itself out?

And if you are like me, maybe you have often imagined that if you could just see a little farther down the road, you’d somehow be better prepared for it.

But the truth is you would not. 

Because if someone had whispered to Ronda as she was standing on the deck, You have 12 weeks, what could she possibly have done with that knowledge?

How do you prepare to lose a life you love?

Years ago, I read something from Lysa TerKeurst about perhaps one of God’s mercies being that He doesn’t allow us to see too far into the future. There are things we simply could not bear to know before we have the grace to live them.

I understand that better now. If I had known what was waiting for me in the days ahead, I wouldn’t have been better prepared for December.

I would have spent September grieving December.

There are some things we aren’t meant to know ahead of time. Maybe that’s why God gives us today—and asks us to trust Him with whatever comes after it. Because what we cannot see ahead of us isn’t only the hard thing we couldn’t bear to know. It’s also the goodness we cannot yet imagine.

What if the thing we are really supposed to do is pay attention to the life that is right in front of us?  Love the people who are here. Have the conversation. Say I love you. Stay a little longer when we can. And, every now and then, stand on the deck for a few extra minutes and take one more look at the water.

I don’t know what will be different next Labor Day. But this I know for sure:

I know that every single day between this Labor Day and the next is a blessing.

And I know that God is already there, holding everything I cannot see.

As for Joe and Thomas, I don’t pretend to know exactly what Heaven might be like (but Lord, please let there be barbecue and fresh hushpuppies). I do know that I have smiled more than once this week imagining the two of them together again, riding around REALLY SLOW, with absolutely nowhere they need to be. 😂

And so last night, I dreamed about Joe.

I can’t remember what he said. I can’t remember where we were.

I just remember that, at that moment, he was there.

And I was mighty glad to see him. 

Love you all mighty much

-Ronda