Autumn has been my favorite season for as long as I can remember, but in my adult life, its arrival has typically been accompanied by varying degrees of melancholy. I've written about it before, the recognition that the majority of my hardest personal experiences took place in autumn seasons. In the seven years since that post, more challenges added their layers to the grief calendar, and even last year it was hard not to feel heavy-hearted by the time the leaves had dropped.
These past few weeks, though, I just have not been able to get enough of autumn. I drive up and down the hills, my breath taken by contrasts that my little camera phone can never fully capture, my mind trying to keep it with me. Even today, with unending rain and the sky looking November-gray, I felt myself coming undone in the best of ways.
When people reflect on hard times, they often will quote the verse about God restoring the years that the locusts ate and then share how the Lord has filled them with wonder over His goodness. And I think this year's autumnal expression is symbolic of that for me. As I drove this morning, I thought about how for years, November meant empty trees and limited color; yet our new just-a-bit-more-southerly location still has a vibrant color palette - one that I notice even more against the gray.
I am on the edge of a new life-season, and my brain is often very full with trying to navigate and prepare for what is now and what is ahead. But I am thankful for all that I bring with me into this approaching chapter: for what I learned through the hard times, and for the blessings and strength from the good times. I am grateful to live where autumn stretches out long, reminding me how beautiful God's work looks even when - perhaps especially when - the backdrop seems gray. Rather than the bittersweet feelings that the scents of fall usually bring, I am caught up in expectation.
"In the act of silence, you're not waiting for God to make a move. You're becoming aware of the moves He is making." ~Brennan Manning
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