I'm not young any longer, and life has been an adventure. The lyrics for that song were taken from King Solomon's list of "Times" in Ecclesiastes 3:1-9. What I once eagerly anticipated is now quite likely already residing in my memory bank.
There were times to plant and harvest, times to kill and heal, times to destroy and rebuild; to cry; to laugh; to grieve; to dance; to scatter stones, and to gather them up; to hug; not to hug, find, lose, keep, throw away, tear, and repair. Times to be quiet and times to speak up; to love; to hate; times for war and for peace. And still the cycle returns. A time to plant, and a time to reap; to find; to lose.
Last week we put my husband, Paul, on hospice. His strength is slowly melting away. He no longer walks, but is still able to sit in his recliner and watch the Twins win an occasional baseball game. He doesn't see much of the game anymore. His eyesight is nearly gone. In fact he has little tying him to this world and often wonders aloud why he is still here. He looks forward to being welcomed into His Savior's arms. But that is part of God's rhythm. The seasons of life belong to Him.
Last Sunday, baby Paul, (grandchild number 25 born on our 50th wedding anniversary) was baptized. Newly born Paul Klemp has his whole life ahead of him.
Now in declining health, the elderly Paul Klemp, with much of his life already lived, awaits his turn to die.
A time to dance; a time to grieve.