Too Much Too Soon

by Donna Poole

Spring didn’t slip softly into early summer one night while we slept. No. Summer raced up from behind, shoved spring sprawling without even so much as a “Pardon me, ma’am,” and we woke up feeling her dragon breath on our faces.

“Ready or not, here I come!” summer shouted. We weren’t ready. We barely had spring. Life’s transitions should be a bit gentler to give us time to adjust, don’t you think?

It’s hot as blue blazes. We’re under a heat advisory with a feel like temperature of 97 degrees. If I wanted to, I could bake my homemade rustic bread in the mailbox.

The poor brides who planned outdoor weddings expecting June’s usual mild breezes and gentle warmth are sweltering in their beautiful gowns, and so are their guests, and their photographers. Forget corn knee high by the fourth of July; some of it is already past knee high on me. True, my knees aren’t all that far off the ground. Fireflies are twinkling over the fields at night, and orange day lilies decorate the countryside. Berries arrived early but so did bugs and blight. I swear, if I hear a cicada while it’s still June I’m going to melt into a puddle of tears.

The old timers used to say first frost comes six weeks after the cicadas sing. That might not be gospel, but to me cicadas signal the beginning of the end of summer.

Slow down already! I just put away my winter mittens.

Mom Poole used to sigh often and say, “Too much too soon.” We weren’t sure what she meant; what was too much too soon? I think I’m old enough to know the answer now; it’s everything!

When I was a child summer vacation stretched forever. Now it seems the kids barely drop their backpacks on the kitchen floor at the end of school and it’s time for the parents to restock them for the next school year. I’m sad for the kids who don’t have the long, carefree summers we enjoyed. Back then the only interruption to freedom was a week of camp for the kids whose parents could afford it. Ours couldn’t, so we ran free and made our own fun.

Summers were busier when I became a teenager; I was working by then, but there was still so much time for fun. One summer I learned to water ski, and I loved it. I’d like to try water skiing again, but I’m not sure where I’d put my cane.

Speaking of my cane, that also was a too much too soon rude moment. I expected to grow old gradually with plenty of warning, not go from the woman who refused to go to sleep at night until she’d walked her 10,000 daily steps to this slow, hobbling creature I don’t recognize.

Give a lady a little warning, would you?

And what about the tears, the trials, the losses, the crosses?

While we’re on the subject, why the misunderstandings and heartaches, why the fractured families and friendships? Oh, I know the answer; sin ruined God’s beautiful creation. But do there have to be so many tears?

I saw twins at the cancer center last week. One was an old lady unable to sit up straight in her wheelchair. The other was a young man, perhaps twenty. But they were twins, matching skeletons with just a covering of skin, zero body fat, suffering in their eyes. Will they find their miracle in that cancer center? We patients are family there. Some of us do find a miracle; some don’t. And our poor family whispers, “Too much, too soon.”

Those “twins” were just two people among the millions in misery around our planet, enduring wars, starvation, man’s inhumanity to man, gang violence, drive by shootings. Is it all random? Life cut short by fire, flood, tornado, drunk drivers.

I could go on. And on. And on. But I won’t.

In this backroad rambling I’ve wandered down a deeply shaded path into territory too dark for me. I’m asking questions I have no answers for. I just know two things.

Job, the man who suffered more loss than any human ever, was full of questions and righteous indignation. He demanded an audience with God. He wanted to know why. Don’t we all? Job got his audience with God, but God never answered Job’s questions. And Job didn’t care. He saw God’s love, power, and glory, and that was enough for him. He decided to stay in his own lane and let God be God.

I’m learning Job’s lesson. I’m learning to “Judge God’s love, not by circumstances, nor by feelings, but by Calvary.” –Unknown

The second thing I know is that it won’t always be like this. Sorrow and suffering will die. Joy and gladness will live forever. When that day comes, God says, “Nothing will hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain.” Isaiah 11:9

And in the end—this is so good it sounds straight out of Narnia—but I promise you, it’s the Bible—there will be a new heaven and a new earth. Life will once again be the perfect garden God created it to be before sin ruined people and disrupted creation. Nothing again will ever be too much too soon. I can hardly wait.

Are you ready?

The end

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.

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