Because in the inevitable
hibernation, depression, bitterness, and sharp attitude that we face every year, we need the grace of warm color. We need the transition
and time to bid our farewells to bare feet in grass, endless porch sitting,
fresh pears and tomatoes, and the warm sun baths. And then once again, Nature
woos us to the scary and necessary world of death with comfort of communion
among wool, steam, fire, and others.
Autumn is the blessed time for
new air, and it is fresh. And as we layer upon layer blankets, coats, scarves,
thicker tights, and mug after mug of sustenance, we find a coziness that isn’t
readily available any other time of the year.
But the true comfort of all
comforts is that we are once again reminded of promise. In this world, there
are scores of unknowns. So many guarantees that we long for, we simply never
get to have. When a season changes, we can find the constant we have long
wished for in that the season will ceaselessly change. We are always promised
that.
I remember the smell of hay in
the barn and how its familiarity would soothe me. Every year. Season upon
season. Cycles. And then back around again.
And then before we know it, we
find ourselves in anticipation for what is to come:
We cannot deny that we feel utter
cheer whenever the evergreen swells in our homes. Winter is the bowl to stuff
childhood memories. The bowl from which we are privileged to pull each year and
relive eating snow cones from our own backyards, making homemade hot chocolate
with grandma, or flannel everything.
Winter is a truth so bare and
cold; we can’t help but be in awe, though it may be pain for a while. The
courage of Nature to surrender as it does each time is astounding and
inspiring.
Maybe we, too, can find that
courage among our own. Maybe we, too, can live the daring days of saying
goodbye to life for a while or forever. Maybe we too can face the arctic days
of death ahead with the excitement for what Professor Dumbledore referred to as
“the next great adventure,” to the well-organized mind.
This season, may we lose
ourselves as we are meant to in pumpkin spiced muffins and apple butter and
ciders and homemade knits and potpourri simmer pots and leave crunching and
wind and s’mores and hayrides and pumpkin carving and mulled wine and the last
cherished picnics and our harvest and mums and crackling wood and reds and
oranges and yellows and browns.
Blessed are those who receive
Nature’s transformations with grace and anticipation. The Lord has meant for
our world to please us so. The Lord has meant for our bodies to be in tune with
our surroundings whether that means eating seasonally or acknowledging our
lives’ reflection of season. These changes are sacred and our days are sacred.
The Lord has made them all, and we are fortunate upon fortunate to be in it. Autumn, and beyond, we welcome you.
