There’s a reason, I think, why the bible starts with those famous words. In the beginning. It’s the initiation of it all. My husband loves to say that those three words indicate God’s first act of creation, the creation of time. With the beginning came all that was to be. Beginnings are the best. Usually. But the challenge of the beginning is always the middle, and then, ultimately, there is an end. All beginnings are foreshadowed by what is to come.

For the past few weeks, Lyndon has started the day with goats. He loves this new adventure, this goat adventure. Every day starts with a promise. Things will happen. Babies will grow. Their goat-y personalities will be revealed. More goat knowledge and goat experience will be acquired. This is the sweetness of the beginning of his day.

And then, the day. Some things go wrong. Work is required. Backs get sore and bellies get hungry and sometimes those unkind things get said. There is good and there is bad. This is the reality of the day. This is life.

But the evening comes and this is the letting go time. The resolving-to-do-better-tomorrow time. The asking-for-forgiveness and becoming-reacquainted-with-the-sweetness-of-it-all time.

And then there is rest and there is dawn and it begins again.

Until it stops.

Tomorrow my parents will attend the funeral of a friend whose death came way too soon. Leaving daughters who will miss his presence, and a wife who is just a girl. That is how I think of her, this older sister of my childhood friend. Isn’t she just a girl who has loved this boy all these years and now he is gone and I know she will miss him so much.

I met him, Walter, back in the day, before the marriage and the daughters. It must have been the 70’s and our family gathered up the boy and the girl from the University of Edmonton where he was learning about those strange computer things and she was studying to be a doctor. I shared the back seat with them, mile after mile, and he quizzed her on medical terms and the names of all those obscure nerves or bones or whatever it was that a girl studying to be a doctor needed to know. And once in a while he put his arm around her and I watched them from the corners of my eyes. And we brought them with us, back to our childhood home where her parents and my grandma and all the aunts and uncles and cousins still lived.

I’m thinking about Walter and Cathy and this family that we shared space with when I was a child. Cathy and all her brothers and sisters and their artist parents who potted and painted right next door to where we hung our coats and left our shoes. All those kids and all that creative stuff going on, on the other side of that door in our entryway. And it seems like yesterday, and it seems like a million years, all at the same time.

Tomorrow they will gather to remember this husband and father, this gentle soul, this boy …  and there will be an ending. For now. But there will be a rest and a dawn, and there will be a new beginning. I can almost see it through my tears.

And there was evening and there was morning. Again.