Fall

I love fall. More like. I have an obsession with it. It’s glowing colors. It’s smells. The change it brings to everything around me. And even a girl who really, really really does not like change, fall brings a change that comforts me.

Fall begins a season of traditions in our house. And like fall, I love and live for traditions! Doing the same thing, at the same time of year, with the same people. It satisfies my need for structure and stability in a world that changes and upturns. Pieces of the traditions may change, but I hold tightly to their cores.

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And regardless of weather or sickness, or workload, Labor Day Weekend means large black tubs layered in dust come out of the shed, bringing memories and comfort and cinnamon spice. This year was no different.

Photographs of visits to pumpkin patches and Disneyland, more traditions, acting as a visual measuring stick of my babies growing and changing over the years. A string of lighted leaves lies across the mantle, a warm glow lighting the room as days get shorter. Knick- knacks from friends who know my love of this season are scattered around and bring back feelings of places and times of falls past.

This year I added more items to our fall decorations. As a friend and I set out to Hobby Lobby in search for just a few, we said, additions. A stop at Starbucks for a pumpkin spiced latte. Another tradition between us girls. One year, we even sat in the front yard, drinking our hot fall favorite in 100 degree weather. Like I said, nothing stops tradition. And the enablers that we are, she came home with a giant “Thankful” porch sign. While I had a whole new set up to adorn the dining room buffet.

As I said before, fall brings change. Fall brings a change like no other time of year. Night air becomes crisper, cooler. Late afternoon daylight glows more orange. Shaded. You can feel the year winding down, slowing into Christmas and winter and hibernation.

Fall in California has its own identity, different than anywhere else. Leaves change quickly. Suddenly. Usually when Christmas music plays on the radio. Temperatures rise and fall and rise again, as if fall is trying to make its appearance but summer holds on, not giving up its right. Unwilling to go quietly. And many times, ash falls from the sky contributing its own fingerprint.

Fall. The word itself conjures up images of things collapsing. Changing. And I am no different.

I have taken my own fall. To my knees. And like the leaves, surrendering to the changing season, falling to the ground, I am surrendering to my Savior.

You have to die to live. I have never understood that as much as I do now. My ways. My walls. Red leaves. Yellow leaves. My control. My facades. Orange leaves. Brown leaves. All falling to the ground in surrender to Him. In obedience to the one who makes all things new. And from the ashes of what my life was a year ago. Two years ago. Five years ago. From those ashes. The beauty! The beauty He has raised from the ashes. From the scars and fears and hurts. From the falls.

So this fall. The fall of 2018. Beauty for ashes. Joy for mourning. I am counting on this. I am standing on these promises.