source: charlesfred
The end of the school year can be heard around campus, muffled by high-school giggles and stern teachers’ voices, insisting that there is still work to be done.
The indicators are everywhere. The seniors aren’t wearing uniforms. Signs line the patch of grass in front of the guard shack announcing concerts, awards ceremonies, uniform returns. The way you hear “only __ left” as you wonder outside toward your car and recall the last weeks of your own high school experience—12 years ago now.
We’ve made it through almost an entire school year here on campus. I have yet to find a routine cleaning our tiny apartment and we’re on the brink of moving to a new one (adding an extra bedroom and bathroom, and a parking space that isn’t a fifth of a mile from our home). I’m both ecstatic about moving and dreading the change of routine that comes with summer along with the change of location; with two little ones, change is a four-letter word. Acclimation does not come easily.
But I look and hope for another fresh start. Another chance to start out cleaner and neater and healthier. Has my life been anything but fresh starts for the last 8 years? Have I taken advantage of any of them?
I pray and beg and exercise for 10 minutes and look at the rings on my finger that have led me to join with a man and move with him. This will be the fifth home we’ve had in eight years of marriage. Five!
Seniors sing of new beginnings and jeans and dorm rooms. I consider a bed that is truly our own—that I don’t have to share with toddlers unless I want to—and a bathroom that my child has no reason to use or be in. Of cleansing and simplicity and painted walls and butterflies and dinosaurs.
I say amen to the fact that “Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning” (Lamentations 3:33, NLT). Every morning, a fresh start. A new breath. Whether you’re 18 or 30, 8 or 98, they are always new and waiting.
It’s about time I grasped ahold of that fact.
Seriously, companies, 
