To  “lament” is not a common term these days, so if you are patient, the definition goes somewhat like this. Romeo meets and falls in love with Rosaline, but Rosaline instantly shuns Romeo. Romeo becomes melancholy and laments even knowing her. Romeo expresses  his deep sorrow or “lamentations,” and the author explains his grief by regret and tears. Rosaline does not love him, and he is sad. All is lost.

I likewise lament not my love for another, but my love for the normal day. For ever since I was a young boy, the archetype of a normal day has been playing alone in an open field, observing spiders, catching snakes, building forts in the woods, fishing in the river, hunting squirls, rabbits and pheasants, and playing poo sticks in the creek nearby my childhood home. This pattern didn’t last but a few years, but it has endured forever in my mind.

Yes, I had friends and brothers, and we would all do these things together, but the times I lement most are the times of solitude. I had no schedule then. The clock wasn’t chasing me, nor the plane waiting. I wasn’t yet worried about how fast I could run or how high I could jump. Football and girls had not yet diverted my attention away from the indescribable joy I found in being alone. At this age, I explored, observed, designed, and built my own little worlds. These were mostly summers when school was out, and a game of 500 was nowhere to be had. I would just wander off to be alone, not to be lonely, I add; the distinction is important. I was not much younger than seven when my adventures in solitude began. And I was probably not much older than twelve when that manhood thing began to change everything.

If you’re my age, 67, and lived somewhat outside of town as a child, you will know the freedom our generation had. Our dads and most moms went to work, and as soon as our own feet hit the ground, kids were outside looking for something to do or someone to play with. We only had to be home for dinner, on time – or else!

It was the mood of the countryside that I enjoyed most. The rustling trees, the always busy bugs, the warmth of the sunshine. Just laying in the grass and watching the clouds roll by was something miraculous. These, though I didn’t know it at the time,  are the pleasures of God’s creation: at this age, I only felt the joy, I couldn’t explain it. It would be blasphemy for me to now describe this time as happenstance or anything I could have created. Worse yet, to think I could recreate this predestined and idyllic season is foolishness. Do not forget I am describing the happy life I had as a child, or somewhat, the ideal life I lement not having as an old man.

Although I practically live this same way way out here in Polebridge, Montana, I often think about what it would be like to go all in and be that child again. If only I would not receive any emails. Didn’t have to go town. And better yet, never see another piece of news, election ad, or, for that matter, watch another lick of TV. I could just roam about in the woods, fish and hunt, garden, and build things and hang out with family. What joy!

Such is my ideal, but I am a grown-up now.  I realize it would be an entirely selfish ambition to live as the child I once was. My present condition  considers the work of the Lord, my family, my friends, and neighbors. And while I’m  still given directions by my mother, my wife, and my church, and I’m still supposed to be home by dinner, or else!  Nothing has changed there. Perfection is for the next life. Still, the pernicious  tendency of folly has died in me; so has ” to eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die.” What God showed me in the countryside, he is still showing me today. There is more to living than the pursuit of, or the escaping from, a particular lifestyle.

Remember, Romeo takes the poison because what he loved, he presumed lost. And when Juliet wakes up to see Romeo dead, she kills herself with Romeo’s dagger. Oh, the tragedy!

So I bequeath to whoever reads this, the memories of my great loss. It was a wonderful childhood, and I contend a better time for our country. Please remember me and others like me as we grieve our former joys lost. Yet I, myself, shall not be so foolish to take Romeo’s poison or grasp the dagger as many do these days. “For I am yet alive, my Lord. You are my hope and my eternal joy. You showed me a beautiful time and place, and while I miss them, I thank you for both my blessings and my lamentations!” It is a great joy that I can still remember. Amen