Enjoying Autumn

Autumn seems like a dreary season. Damp and cool, the days grow shorter, and darkness descends well before bedtime. Plants and trees begin to wilt and turn brown, ushering in the death of winter. I often forget that autumn also is a season of bounty and splendor. Farmers gather in their harvests, and trees display vibrant shades of crimson, orange, and gold. Pumpkins, squash, apples, and pears fill autumn with sweetness and spice. How wise of the Creator to bestow autumn with brilliance and bounty, one last hurrah before the winter freeze! He gives a season of plenty to provide for the barrenness of the months ahead.

So many times in my own life, a "mountaintop experience" precedes a long period of trials. That season of goodness contrasts sharply with the difficult days that follow it, and I often wonder why the vibrant and showy times cannot last forever. Perhaps that season of excitement and splendor prepares me for the winter in my life. The harvest of fruit that I reap in such times provides nourishment and encouragement for my spirit during the season of barrenness.

I am learning that autumn is a season both of delights and preparation. Now, when the colors in my life become dazzling, I know to store up truths about the brilliance and goodness of my Creator to feast on during the times of trial that surely will come. But, I have learned one other important lesson.

The autumn harvest also produces seeds, and although they lie dormant through the frost, the seeds of autumn burst forth into new life at the first sign of spring. What a blessing to know that the seeds of faith scattered in the fall survive the cold and produce life once again!

So, now, instead of simply dreading autumn as the precursor to a long, dreary winter, I rejoice in the bounty and beauty God has given me to sustain me through any hard times ahead.

What a tragedy

To a two-year-old, everything is a tragedy. A lost sticker, the last sip of milk, the cat sleeping in "her" chair, and her brother drooling on her toy all provide sufficient cause for my daughter to erupt into a violent storm of tears and fury. Though I empathize with her frustration, at times I chuckle at the insignificance of the event which precipitates her tirade. If only my biggest frustrations involved drool or toys, problems I could easily remedy...

So many times, though, my anger and frustration rise over similarly insignificant events. My daughter wets the bed or deliberately spills her milk. My son spits up all over the carpet or cries when he should sleep instead. We run out of milk, or I open the cabinet and several cans fall on the floor for the third time that day. My heart begins pounding, my head aches, and my patience begins to wear very thin. Do any of these events genuinely matter in the long run?

Our compassionate Father must chuckle sometimes, wondering at our lack of perspective. Imagine losing a Son, executed for a crime he did not commit. Imagine trying to save a loved one's life, only to have that help rejected, resulting in that person's death. And I get angry over wet sheets and spit up.

As my daughter learned to say, "Mama, don't cry over spilled milk."

Raining Inside and Out?

A gray drizzle and a gusty breeze outside remind me more of a fall day than the middle of July. I pull my blanket tighter around my shoulders, sip my tea, and enjoy the warm yellow glow of the lamps in my living room. The light notes of a classical dance soothe me as I relish the sheltering warmth of this room compared to the chilly night outside my doors.

A week ago, a similarly unseasonable day wrapped its fingers around my abode. This time, however, I sat shivering in a nylon tent, as gray inside as the rainy predawn sky. As I huddled with my family on this camping trip, my daughter announced, "It's raining in my tent!" Sure enough, the constant downpour had found a weakness in the nylon and the rain began soaking our bedding and our clothes. We packed up quickly and escaped to the drier shelter of my in-laws' house.

Tonight, as I sit in my cozy house, I ponder my outlook on life. Am I more like my house or my tent? Does the warmth of joy fill me from within, keeping the dreary rain of difficulty at bay? Or, do life's storms gray my spirit, wearing away at weaknesses until the rain falls both inside and out?

The rain will fall, even in the midst of summer. I have a choice. Will my spirit only warm on sunny days with cloudless skies? Or, will the joy I have come from within and shine brightly as a haven on a cold and stormy day?