In the Mean Time

I have so many items on my list of “Things to Do.” But instead of "doing", I have been sitting on my shady front porch . . . with Abe . . . reading David McCullough’s fascinating biography of John Adams. My husband is gone to business meetings. My son is on a jobsite somewhere building a fence. The poodles are napping. And I am sitting outside in the humid southern summer with Abe.

I had first planned to run a few errands, but my son and my husband have our two cars. Dave’s truck is sitting in the cottage driveway, but I can’t find his keys. Guess running errands is out of the question. I don’t have any car keys.

Then I thought that I would do a little painting prep-work in the cottage. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little work done over there. But all the doors were locked . . . and both men have all the keys. Guess working at the cottage is out of the question. I don’t have any way of getting inside.

Then I decided that I should take a walk and do some outdoor photography. I toted my camera to a clump of thistles to see if I could capture a good picture of the bees buzzing from bloom to bloom. After the third picture, my camera battery shut down. I had forgotten to recharge it. Guess I won’t be taking pictures right now. I don’t have an extra battery.

I already cleaned the kitchen. Perhaps I could do laundry. The floors definitely need a good scrubbing. But instead, I have chosen to sit and read. And think.

The thing I have been thinking about is the phrase, “in the mean time.” I am doing that right now . . . not really able to do what I wanted or planned to do, but waiting for the time when everything will work out so I can move forward. For now . . . sitting on the front porch with Abe . . . reading and thinking and drinking iced tea . . . is how I have chosen to spend my “in the mean time.” In a sense, I am waiting. But in another sense, I am fully occupied. That is pretty much what “in the mean time” is. It is both waiting and occupying.

Then it dawned on me: life is FULL of interims. Waiting for summer. Waiting for the move to college. Waiting for your birthday. Waiting for a promotion at work. Waiting for the wedding. Waiting for grandchildren. Waiting and occupying is as much a part of life as “real activity” is. And the way we spend our “in the mean times” can be the defining framework that surrounds everything else we do. Are we anxious? Are we fearful? Are we frustrated? Are we bored? Is there a sense of fullness and peace in the mean time?

I think our “in the mean time” moments are the prologues and the epilogues of the chapters of our lives. They set us up . . . emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually . . . for the activities God brings to us. And then they give us an opportunity, at the end of it all, to find clarity and meaning to the working-out of His hand in our lives. Perhaps we shouldn’t be in such a hurry or full of such anxiety about what will happen next. Perhaps we should be completely content in the mean time. Perhaps there are treasures of blessings there.

I think I should tell David and Rachel that these last three-and-a-half weeks before their wedding are important “in the mean time” days. They should treasure them. They should allow God’s peace and love and wisdom and grace to soak into every nook and cranny of their “waiting for the big day” hours. These “in the mean time” days can be a beautiful, blessed prologue for their new chapter in life.

I think I should tell myself that, too.

The picture of the bee and the thistle I have shared with you is from last year. I will take more photos later when my camera battery finishes charging. And, in the mean time, I will get a new glass of iced tea. Abe isn’t finished with his nap and I have a few more pages to read . . .

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Abe's Blog

I have become a “dog person.” I am quite surprised by this fact. When I was a young wife with four growing children, I just never quite pictured myself as a 50-year-old dog lover. But as my energy level wanes a bit and I have more time to indulge in quiet things like long walks and thick books, I am beginning to truly enjoy the loyal companionship and whimsical friendship of my dogs.

Typically, Kirkhaven is the realm of poodles. Very small, delicate poodles. They lounge on your lap. They nap in your arms. They snuggle at your shoulder as you sit on the couch reading a book or watching a movie. They enjoy a short traipse through the daisy meadow and gleefully chase turkeys if such serendipity arises. Poodles gaze deeply into your heart. They lick you gently on the nose. Their loyalty and intelligence is rooted in their ancient breeding as hunting dogs. Their mission at Kirkhaven is to joyfully greet every visitor and lavishly rest with all who enter our doors. They lie quietly as you stroke their soft, curly fur and totally convince you that THIS is the important moment of your day.

But a new age is dawning at Kirkhaven. Abe is coming to town. Things are truly about to change around here. If you haven’t met this endearing soul, it will be difficult for you to fully grasp the immense impact he is going to have on our tranquil home. Abe spent last summer with us when Dave came home for summer break. I totally know what we are getting into this time. I don’t think I will tell the poodles that Abe is coming.

Abe is a dog. Just like my poodles. Abe also has ancestral hunting blood running through his veins. Just like my poodles. Abe is well-meaning and genial. Just like my poodles. Mmmm . . . let me see . . . that’s about it. Yup. That’s all Abe has in common with the poodles. Everything else about this German Short-haired huntin’ dawg is utterly unpoodle-ish.

My son Dave, recently graduated from North Dakota State University, is bringing Abe home to us. Dave will be marrying his lovely bride, Rachel, in the back yard of our Tennessee hill-top home on July 3rd. Then Dave, Rach, and Abe will be settling into the “Kirkhaven Cottage” to begin their life-journey together. I will get to spend a lot of time with this energetic dog. I am quite looking forward to it. I think.

What Abe Looks Like:

Abe has a rich, shiny liver coat. The white patch on his chest makes him look a little like he is wearing a tuxedo. His eyes have that doleful expression that makes you want to kiss him right on the snout. Which you really shouldn’t do. He will kiss you back.

Abe’s Joy: Abe is 70 long-legged pounds of pure, bird-dog energy. He doesn’t traipse through daisy patches like poodles do. He bounds. His long, floppy ears haphazardly flap in the wind as he barrels across the rolling fields on our East Tennessee ridge-top. He dives into the woods if he smells something interesting. He streaks and zig-zags through the tall grass following every scent and alerting to every wildlife happenstance. He is so exuberant in his freedom that even your own heart begins to swell with joy as you watch his unbridled galloping . Then he usually makes a final sharp turn and plows through every flower bed on his way to the swimming pool. It is pretty much impossible to stop him, even if you think you have the advantage of a head-start. Neither wildly flinging arms, nor strongly yelled rebukes, nor any feeble attempts to block his way will prevent Abe from diving into the pool. I have tried them all. Especially on muddy days. It is a simple fact: Abe is deaf and unavailable to all forms of communication when he is rejoicing.

Abe’s Devotion:

Abe is devoted to his people. Especially to Dave. No one is a “stranger” to Abe, and he is generous and lavish in his affection. Actually he expresses himself in much the same way as poodles do . . . only more gangly. He, too, wants to spend time with you. And nap with you. And relax in the quietness of your friendship. It’s just that he is much heavier than a poodle . . . and has slightly less manners. And Abe snores.

Abe’s Melancholy:

Abe doesn’t like to be alone. That’s really his only serious personality flaw. He will eat through any fence. Scratch through any door. Dig deep holes. He will do whatever it takes to be reunited with his people. It is one of the saddest sounds in the world when Abe . . . all alone in his dog pen . . . starts his mournful howling. “Sounds like a dang hound dog,” is how Dave describes it.

I am looking forward to seeing ol’ Abe again. We will take walks together. We will play fetch in the west meadow. And we will sit on the loggia on really hot days while everyone else is at work. Someone else will have to scold him for ignoring commands and for digging holes and for howling. That won’t be my responsibility. Abe and I will simply enjoy each other. I don’t have any grandchildren. I suppose Abe is my grand-dog.

Perhaps the poodles will learn to love Abe, too. In spite of his lack of manners.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid