I adore fall, the golden “putting the place to bed for winter” season. All summer, nature gives fair warning: winter’s coming—prepare. In our yards and fields, that spells work: harvest, haul, dump, store, preserve. Bushels of still-green tomatoes, carrots and potatoes still wait in our garden. The gazebo, lawn furniture, and summer toys must go into hiding till next year. It’s yard-tidying time.
Plenty of tree branches litter our yard these brisk days. Most fell to the buzz of the chain saw wielded by my visiting son. “This tree goes, and that limb and this one, too…” We passed judgment on the Preacher’s and my small forest, craning our necks long to spy the dead branches among the living. The out-of-place ones from the rest. And down they came.
Wouldn’t it be lovely if life’s seasons were as predictable as nature’s? If we could always know how to prepare for our next season? If we could look ahead objectively, and wisely choose which limbs to cut to help us grow best? If we never needed emergency measures?
A popular series of TV ads remind us that “if life were like that…” things would be different. We’d have control. Get what we want, when we want it. Nothing could catch us off guard. But like the wind gusts that have assaulted our region lately, many life changes blow in without warning. We don’t get the choice about what goes, stays or falls—one day we wake up in New Normal. Or we find ourselves standing by, watching our favourite season evaporate against our wishes.
If you’re there at this moment, I’m sorry. The Preacher and I too. Once again, we find ourselves running to the same place we always do—not to a credit card company, but to the God of the seasons. He leads us step by step through the fallen limbs. Helps us shape what remains. Channels our unrest into inner quiet, accompanies us through the dark, and follows us with goodness and mercy.
Just curious. Where do you go?