After a two-year hiatus due to covid, the Cowal Family Gathering in Dunoon, Scotland, kicked off this year with a huge attendance. Not only that—for once it didn’t rain and it was even…gulp!…sunny.
Writers rarely get days off, so I didn’t attend the festivities that were practically in our backyard. However, when I walked Savannah past the stadium we watched the excitement and happiness on the other side of the chain link fence. It was wonderful to see families—many complete with their canine members—having fun. The joy was electric.
Then came Sunday morning. Instead of electric joy, I felt deflating sadness as I heard clinks and clatters and saw tents and carnival equipment coming down. Endings. I hate them. Such a rare and perfect day of sunshine and celebration after two long years of lockdown—I doubt anyone was ready for it to end.
Some writers get excited when they write “The End” on their books. Not me. It means the fun and joy and excitement I was privileged to experience for approximately 300 pages is suddenly gone. It means that I need to hunt down another idea and come up with 300 new pages—even though my head feels as empty as the fluff from last spring’s dandelion stalks.
So many sad endings of things we don’t want to end: vacations, a good meal, visits with family and friends, spring, summer, comfortable shoes, favorite clothes—and death.
Thankfully, some endings are good: the end of pain, cold, disease, sorrow—and death.
Death makes both lists of endings because death isn’t real. It’s a shadow, an illusion. With Jesus, there is life beyond this life we are living now…and Heaven is the end of sorrow, parting, illness, pain, disease. We do not belong to this earth. We are passing through to our eternal destination in Christ Jesus.
Still…I hate endings. Especially the end of spring and summer. Death I do not fear. But winter and snow give me the cold shivers.