So, it's fall. Summer is definitely over, and we've already had a taste of winter as a snowfall took us by surprise and whisked us off to a few days of hats and gloves and snowforts. School has changed our schedule, prying our hands off the glorious season that allows us to live "impromptu" for a bit. September rushed in with its school-marm rigidness, cowing us all into reluctant submission. I'm still resisting. Sigh. Can't I enjoy one more lemonade on the back deck? One more t-shirt walk?
Yet, fall in itself is awesome. As the precursor to winter and all its cruel winds and temps, it tends to get a bad rap. We regret the coming of autumn b/c it means summer is over and winter is coming.
The fall of the year has a glory all of its own. It seems to know it's got a bad reputation, so it strives for a beauty that rivals the prettiness of summer, the wildness of winter and the new life of spring. As the summer-life of nature is snuffed out, it determines to make itself unforgettable.
Our eyes are filled with colour - reds, oranges, yellows - all of the brightest hues. Our noses are assaulted with smells - burning leaves, crisp air, rotting vegetation, wet earth. Our taste buds revel in the signature tastes of fall - cider, pumpkin pie, applesauce, even school sandwiches.
And our memories are triggered over and over by this arousal of our senses. I see the Sears catalogue open on the couch as I dreamed of new outfits as a little girl. I can hear the crunch of leaves underfoot as we took Thanksgiving hikes and returned to a warm home smelling like turkey and apple pie. I can feel the nervousness that overtook me as I started off for my first day back at school with the Sept. wind turning my cheeks pink. Leg warmers, jean jackets, desert boots. The bookmobile, swimming lessons, girl's club at church.
And as we settle into the pattern, carving out the rut we'll tread for a short time, we give thanks. Thanks that the promise is there for us that the seasons will continue until the Lord returns. Thanks that though sometimes things feel out of control, God's plan is untouchable. The death of winter is necessary to see the life of spring. It's Friday. But Sunday's comin'. And with Sunday's arrival comes the warmth of new life and we see our risen Saviour - glorious as the vibrant reds of fall, having endured the blast of death and come out into the Spring of eternity.
