August, August, August ...

    I've been here been before. We have been here before. This time. This place. Some of you have lived less Augusts in the past. Others more. For me, I have had half a century of these months. Three were winters. Which were those from me? All in Chile, with some cold and rain: 1990, 1991, 2005. Not all was wet and cool. There were sunny days, too. Although, my first Mediterranean climate wintry August I was sick and then recovering during most of it. I was still 19. Still a teenager.

    In 1983, in August, my last summer and hot month before my teenage years, I recall sitting on a picnic table at a hot campsite, exposed greatly to the sun and overbearing temperatures, writing a few words, drawing a few pictures, perhaps thinking and dreaming of other things, far off places... My parents were split up, for sure. Life was unsure and changing. 

    August was hot and heavy, leading up to a hotter and heavier attempt at American football for me, as rising seventh grader. I had been fast, I had been strong. Mentally, I had an overcome it all attitude, I think. But that August I think I had some chinks in the armor. My mind, my body, my confidence, my soul... I was slower, lazier, less motivated. August was there and I was not the same.

    I have talked about those times in posts past. Dropping a toad on the scalding iron oven at Camp Maumee, bringing upon us God's wrath and standing in a warm mud pit in my bare feet while eating rainy watered-down salad, as my fellow Scouts scrambled for survival; I found myself bowing out of the middle school football team a few long weeks later, with my friend, or many friends there, a constant heckler for much of the rest of the year (Eric, likely a child bullied himself, more than me).

    What an August, at age 12. A time of change, realization, growing up.

    I survived the August of 1990, largely by myself, hospitalized, feverish, lonely but at times heartened by my mission mates, or a kind nurse.

    August, August, August. There would be many more to come, I am thankful for that.

    I am in this one, and thankful. I am in a good place, my people are in a good place.

    Gaza Strip? No. Ukraine, Russia? No. Sudan? Probably no.

    But we are pretty good in the States, after Hurricane Debby dropped her rains, and a few people were killed further south. Most got through the flooding unscathed. 

    Harris versus Trump, Vance versus Walz.

    And we think of all the Augusts come and gone, and hopefully many more to come.