I hate summer. Really. I hate the taste of watermelon, the feel of chlorine stained hair, and the smell of sweaty bodies. I hate sand in my house, 100° heat and hearing about too many camps and vacations.

I put on a happy face for summer, after all it's not normal to hate summer, so I fake it. I pretend to enjoy the hours of unstructured time. I pretend to enjoy days so long they stretch into one another with no excuse to cozy up with a good book. I pretend to enjoy light summer non-cooking, nothing heavy or comforting.

I am waiting for sweater weather, a good hard freeze, a crisp day. I can't wait to unfold my collection of turtlenecks, pull on my boots and wear my scrunchie blue hat.

Fall is my season. I like the trappings of fall, the heavy clothes, the heavy food, the deep heavy colors. Shoes and socks trap my feet, hats hide my ears, and aromas of harvest fill my nose. Time to quit faking, time to once again get comfortable in my own skin, to stop comparing tan lines, flat tummies, and vacation photos.

Big deal. I hate summer, but I am good at acting like summer is terrific. I fake it and I don't feel true to myself when I do. I realized I act other parts as well. I fake being a Christian sometimes, that appalls me.

I don't mean the times I offer service with a grumble or don't want to get up on Sunday morning. I mean the times I deny Christ entirely, the moments when tested I don't claim to be a Christian. My silence at the table when a discussion turns to religion. Or shying away from inviting friends and neighbors to church. Or knowing I should stop and offer comfort to a stranger or call a friend to check in. The times I don't confess Christ is Lord of my life.

I don't like faking it through the summer season but I am ashamed when I fake being a Christian. I claim Christ when it is easy, not when it's hard. I am still challenged to get comfortable in my Christian skin. I am working on it.