I feel it in the air. Mornings are crisp. I notice the days are a few minutes shorter, and even just a few minutes’ difference marks a change in my inner cadence. I see the trees with that sense the end is near. They change prematurely as if they are thrilled to wear their fall colors. Summer is winding down.
It was the best summer in years. As if to make up for the last few lost summers, friends and family were travelling, activities and outings were offered once again, and the weather was nearly perfect. It reminded me how important it is for us to be together. God designed us to live in community with one another. We learn much about him when we can see the Imago Dei, the image of God, reflected in the presence of another.
This summer I had the luxury of sitting at a shaded picnic table in my yard for hours with friends, talking and laughing over homemade pizza or bowls of ice cream. It was time I know we will not have open in our schedules for long.
I feel the pull of fall. School supplies flood the stores; the leaves will change completely and then fall. New routines will fill our days soon.
I feel the tug between the cadences of summer and fall. When I slow down and think of this, I know the tug in my heart is always pulling me toward the future. I know I am only in this world for a short time. My soul is always longing for a future with Christ. Maybe this is what seasons are for, to remind us of that pull, reminding us that we are not our own; we belong to God.
My family eats dinner outside again tonight at our picnic table. We know the rain will come to Seattle soon, and this may be one of our last meals outside. After the dishes are cleared, I linger outside with my husband, who smokes an evening cigar. Neighbors walk by with their dog and say hello. I can hear our neighbor to the left with his toddler son in their backyard; the son’s mousy voice and giggle drift over our fence. Across the street another neighbor sits on his porch, listening to soul music as he too smokes. In our yard a Steller’s Jay pokes for grubs in the grass while a rabbit quietly munches in the corner.
I am overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude for these last few months and these last few nights in my yard. I think to myself how God is good in both large and small things. And tonight, as I sit in my little square of the world, I ponder a verse from St. Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians: “God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.” (9:8) This is what I feel at the end of this summer: abundance in grace, abundance in goodness.
Photo by Rachel Claire via Pexels.