Oldest Daughter is home from camp.
For 6 days straight she made new friends, screamed herself hoarse with camp cheers, laughed at hilarious skits, slid down giant lake slides, climbed rock walls, whispered in the dark after lights out, got up early, and went to bed late. Six exciting, exhilarating, adrenalin-pumping days.
And now she is home and life is just slightly dull. The summer stretches out before her . . . very drab and brown after the technicolor week she just had. She e-mails her new friends, downloads new praise and worship learned at camp, wears new camp shirts . . . but it's not the same. Unbelievably, she still has to empty the dishwasher, do poop pickup, babysit her little sister, clean her bathroom. Ahhh, the injustice.
Tonight she looked at me with doleful eyes. "Mom," she said, "I think I'm having post-partum depression from leaving camp."
Oh, Honey, I understand. Man, do I understand! And we cuddled a little longer at bedtime, as she learns that life ebbs and flows, thrills and bores, always changes, never stands still. And under it all is the hand of our God who always stays the same and is, Himself, the giver of all good gifts.