Jello

Originally uploaded by laundrylessons.

I don’t eat jello. Really, I’d forgotten how many people do enjoy the slippery treat. Today I was in charge of lunch for about fifty. Fifty jello-eating people. It’s church rummage sale time. I love helping with the rummage sale, sorting through old jewelry and silk flower arrangements. Felt angels and coffee mugs from Myrtle Beach. But today, and tomorrow, my job is to feed the workers.

I was the youngest volunteer. At 42 there is a big advantage to surrounding yourself with people whose average age is 74. I’m young. But I don’t eat jello. I made soup and sandwiches for fifty and the menu was filled out with food donations. Seven jello salads rolled through the kitchen door. Red jello with cranberries and orange jello with carrots. Lots of jello.

Circled by older, wiser, seasoned ladies, was a good way to step out of my normal day and be part of their dynamic. Most of the volunteers move slower than me. The ladies took breaks, grabbing a doughnut hole or a cup of coffee. And they laughed with each other. The woman I usually interact with each day are rushing, working their way from one item on their list to the next dance lesson or practice.

Today I was reminded of the sacredness of seasons. “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” (Ecc. 3:1) Occasionally I’m tired. Worn out from childrearing. Sometimes I wonder what happens after the kids leave. Will I be tired as often once I get to sleep in? Will I read the giant stack of books by my bed? Will I slow down? Will I eat jello? I’m not sure, but today reminded me that not everyday will look like these days. I don’t know how my seasons will change, but each one will be exceptional. Just like today, even without jello.