Every Season

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Fall is my favorite time of year. I love everything about it. There are aspects of each season that I enjoy, but none make me giddy like Fall. From the cooler weather to pumpkin everything, and from boots and scarves to Thanksgiving, what's not to love? But without a doubt, my favorite part is the trees. Vibrant reds, blinding yellows and golds, and toasty oranges take my breath away every year. I've been known to hop in my car and drive towards the country in search of the winning display of color. Granted, I live in Houston, where green is the predominant color year-round. But there are bursts of color to be seen, and this nature girl appreciates every tiny brush stroke. One day I will drive through the Blue Ridge mountains in the fall (my bucket list is simple), but for this life season I will enjoy my apartment's tiny porch, the yellow vine woven through "my" trees, and the whoosh of traffic that I pretend is the sound of the ocean.

There is a joy that accompanies finding place and peace in the midst of life's traffic. It may look different for you. Mine looks like the sun peeking through branches, illuminating a delicate, silky web I hadn't noticed a few feet in front of me. It sounds like a strong breeze rushing through the leaves, and a Brown Thrasher foraging its way through the crunchy underbrush in search of its next meal. My soul can breath even here in this urban wilderness.

Seasons are curious things, aren't they? The part that puts a smile on my face and a spring in my step will eventually make me sad. The same way a "hello" always means a "goodbye." Call me sappy if you will, but as the yellows and reds fall to cover the green earth I can't help but mourn for the naked trees. (Maybe I need a support group.) But there is beauty even in death, you see. The cleaner branches provide a clearer view to watch the crimson Cardinal that is chirping at me. He doesn't know he's part of my background music. Maybe it's about perspective. Or acceptance (not complacency...there's a difference). Choosing to dwell on the good. Death is occurring, yes, but it's a necessary death that gives way to life. The trees must shed the old to make way for the new. The crisp brown leaves on the ground serve as a warm blanket, insulating the seeds that have also fallen. Because the seeds are protected from the frost, they will spring up as flowers and young trees in the months and years to come.

There is a comforting rhythm to seasons. They speak of a Creator who is consistently faithful...one who knows that this earth and these people can only stand so many days of triple-digit temperatures. And as He blows the leaves off of the trees, He graciously blows through my heart and kindly declares, "This part needs to die. But don't despair; I am making all things new." And when springtime comes, and it always does, He whispers to the seed He has been covering and tending, "Grow." And when we see the fragile green sprig that has pushed its way up through the soil, we marvel at its strength and thank God for all seasons past, and every season yet to come.