Yesterday was the first day this summer that I had to pull out a sweater to keep from being chilly. Last night was the first night that I wore socks to bed to keep my toes warm. You can feel it in the air - the weather is changing, fall is coming. Perhaps it is too convienent to equate the changes in seasons with the shifts in our own lives, but right now it seems to fit. I find myself in a period of letting go of some of the things that have been, and preparing to embrace the new things that are coming. No, I'm not changing jobs or getting married or moving, but significant life changes are happening for those closest to me - all of them exciting, all of them good, but also for me, a little bit scary. As one who prefers stability and needs time to process things through, too much all at once can make me start to panic. But then I must remember - change is not the enemy to be warded off or resisted, change is part of the natural rhythmn of life. Like a river there are ebbs and flows, but it never stands still - and yet in its motion that is what creates a constant.
As I sat down by the Susquehanna yesterday in the wake of the storm, the wind was whipping the river into little frothy waves and tossing the bushy vegetation about wildly in every direction. Sometimes I feel like those small plants, being pushed and pulled back and forth in every direction - entirely dependant on which way the wind is blowing. But then I looked up and noticed a tall tree, standing strong. Although its leaves and smaller branches were being swept back and forth, the sturdy trunk and thicker branches barely moved. I want to be like that tree - swaying gently and bending with the gusts, but having a core that is unshaken. I know that only comes out of a solid rootedness in the life-giving Source, the One who is unchanging. And I know it takes years of growth to get there, and I have a long way to go. But by the grace of God, I pray that I will be less shaken by the big life changes or the small day-to-day fluctuations - and allow myself to dance with the winds and the waves that do come.
And as I start pulling out warmer clothes and picking pumpkins from the backyard, I will offer thanks for what has been, and what's to come ("Seasons" by Nichole Nordeman).
