Now Are The Golden Days I Long For

It’s late on a Friday afternoon. Past-time for me to pull the Italian meatballs simmering in the Crock-pot, add them to fresh bakery rolls, and toast them with provolone cheese for a warm, simple, end-of-week meal. I found myself in need a nap as the clock rolled towards 3, and so I slipped into bed with my comforting dog and a whirring fan to sink into reprieve from all the work of running a home and guiding the education of my sons. 

I am now awake, meatballs calling, but choosing to lie here pondering the deeper thoughts of the grounding and stability of this particular shelter, my yellow home, and yet also hearing echoes in my soul of the beauty of my childhood farm, the original Golden home of my life. Aching in my soul for the beauty that was, the Greater that is to come. I look out my bedroom window in the midst of my brooding, to notice through the trees, far on the other side of the pond, a pair of boys, my son with a friend, rooted on the dock, Golden sun spotlighting them, as they cast their lines into the water hoping for the tug of a catfish. 

And I realize that I am now living the Halcyon Days that I will mourn for one day. 

Days of quiet and beauty tucked in at the end of culdesac in this Golden home, pine trees swaying, boys running, building, adventuring, all finding shade, safety, and healing from the rough edges of the world. We live the days we will one day long for. I mourn the loss of those golden days of my own childhood, tucked in a farm for a handful of years, getting lost in cornfields, wandering by the pond, fading sunlight warming me as the toads begin to sing their evening songs. And now here I am at 47, watching my sons glow in the retiring light, happy, beaming, at peace. 

One day I will be gone, entering into the Eternal Golden Light, running the fields of freedom, healed, and they will remember these Golden strings of days, right here, as they watch their young glowing in the same.