September
Bittersweet September. The trees are still vibrantly green, but a few yellow and brown leaves betray their fate, sprinkling the creek-bed. Sunlight works its photo-synthesis-magic a little longer, but plenty of rays slip through the treetops to form bright patches on the river-rocks, and an extra sparkle or two skipping across the shallow water.
I feel like I crave the light as much as those leaves do. I come visit the trees because I feel like we have something in common. We both hunger and thirst for light. The trees need the sun. I need Jesus. I need His light and His warmth to grow into something strong and beautiful. Something resilient in storms.
But it won't be long 'til that emerald canopy turns to gold, tangerine, and rubies. I love autumn, but I pause before embracing it. I don't want to say goodbye to the warmth and light of summer. Will Jesus still meet there, in those crisp colors, and ultimately, that icy darkness? Will He be faithful to bring new light and life again on the other side, as He promises--as He always has before? Each season, I find I have to trust Him just as much as ever. I hold on to the promises, to the answers to prayer, to the lessons learned, and it helps. But it never fully removes the longing to just stay warm and comfortable, at peace, at least, with familiar, unanswered questions.
But as always, I know there is much more than this if I am willing to go ahead and embrace it. There is growth in the changing seasons. There is a God-given awareness that this world is a lot bigger than me, and His calling and purpose propels me into a deeper adventure of love for more than myself--for the world He's called me to love, one person at a time. It scares me to death. But I love every minute. The mission overwhelms and exhausts me one moment, and the next, it unchains and energizes. That's His Spirit in the changing winds.
September--world-between-the-worlds. Your beauty is in the tension and the trust. The willingness to surrender what was for what will be, by faith--reminding me to have courage as I step from one calendar square to the next, trusting that yes, Jesus will meet me here. And here. And here.
I feel like I crave the light as much as those leaves do. I come visit the trees because I feel like we have something in common. We both hunger and thirst for light. The trees need the sun. I need Jesus. I need His light and His warmth to grow into something strong and beautiful. Something resilient in storms.
But it won't be long 'til that emerald canopy turns to gold, tangerine, and rubies. I love autumn, but I pause before embracing it. I don't want to say goodbye to the warmth and light of summer. Will Jesus still meet there, in those crisp colors, and ultimately, that icy darkness? Will He be faithful to bring new light and life again on the other side, as He promises--as He always has before? Each season, I find I have to trust Him just as much as ever. I hold on to the promises, to the answers to prayer, to the lessons learned, and it helps. But it never fully removes the longing to just stay warm and comfortable, at peace, at least, with familiar, unanswered questions.
But as always, I know there is much more than this if I am willing to go ahead and embrace it. There is growth in the changing seasons. There is a God-given awareness that this world is a lot bigger than me, and His calling and purpose propels me into a deeper adventure of love for more than myself--for the world He's called me to love, one person at a time. It scares me to death. But I love every minute. The mission overwhelms and exhausts me one moment, and the next, it unchains and energizes. That's His Spirit in the changing winds.
September--world-between-the-worlds. Your beauty is in the tension and the trust. The willingness to surrender what was for what will be, by faith--reminding me to have courage as I step from one calendar square to the next, trusting that yes, Jesus will meet me here. And here. And here.
Amen. I'm glad He will meet us where ever we are.
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