92 Degrees

The summer befriended us, so we basked in its bountiful offerings. Those two wheels, propelled by chain and pedals, they were my lifeline to youthful ventures as I grew up under a Californian sun. We were fish in the creek, each afternoon visiting famed spots with ropes and swings placed conveniently for our amusement. The Bear Hole almost claimed me the last summer. The old lava flow from Shasta created an exhilarating slide of water that led to entrapping currents. The undertow fought hard to keep me, but the Lord fought harder.

Our feet were scorched from boiling pavement in competitions to see who could withstand the burn longer. From climbing roofs to throw pine cones on the cars passing below to roaming the foothills of the Sierras without direction and knowledge of its inhabitants. We were foolish and reckless, but at the moment, we captured life and encapsulated the memories of childhood.

The vacuum of heat greets me as I open the back door; it is my reminder. The weatherman says it will climb to 92 degrees today. Hot and memorable.

I do not mourn my memories or find disappointment in my childish ways. For a child to be a child is only natural and logical. Children believe in the invincible; consequences are only real when they become real. If they become real.

I pray under the sun as she squeals and runs on bean-pole legs adorned with bruises, scrapes, and the like. The Lord must be smiling at my new reality, as I stare at my child and ponder the memories she has yet to create, the dangers yet to be encountered, the grace she will one day rejoice in.