Harvest. The time is nearly here. And when you live deep in the heart of an Iowa cornfield, it is especially hard not to notice. There is a marked chill in the air and the corn stalks wave valiantly in stunning shades of gold. Change is coming.
Summer colors fade as a majestic show of warm hues settle across the countryside. Heavenly aromas waft from the kitchen: maple syrup, pumpkin spice, and cinnamon. So many lovely things happen in the fall as the whole world prepares to hibernate for a season.
I am not a country girl by nature, yet somehow my husband convinced me several years ago that buying an acreage in rural Iowa would be a good thing. And mostly it is. There is much to be done to ready for the impending cold season. Firewood must be split and piled. Produce must be canned and frozen. Pies must be baked and devoured. And there is a cozy, old farmhouse to be cleaned and decorated as we retreat for a season to the indoors for hot apple ciders, fuzzy socks, and comfort suppers.
And Autumn comes. It is the dying of something good, to make way for something new. The “autumns” of life may bring sorrow, despair, and loneliness, but there is always hope. Always.
Even within the throes of an “Autumn” season, God is there, all the while, waiting to be noticed. I imagine He is saying something like, “Hello? Remember me? King of the Universe? If you would stop hyperventilating for just a second, I would like to invite you to be a part of something bigger than you are. Bigger than you dreamed. Bigger because I am God and I can do it if you would just trust me for a moment.”
So we wait. And pray. And wait some more. And pray some more. And sometimes pretty big, hopeful things fall through, but God knows better.
And the heavenly winds shift, and though physical circumstances may remain unchanged for the moment, the heart softens into a sweet surrender to a compassionate God who knows what He is doing after all. It is the Lord’s plans that prevail, not ever our own, yet I am prone to forget.
To everything there is a season. The living and the dying. Everything.
May we experience the impending winter as a season of rest rather than merely death. For all that dies become new again. The seed falls, withers, and dies. Dormant. But in due time lives again, stronger than before.
In the crisp of an autumn breeze tumbling over the horizon, He whispers… “I make all things new.”
For the one who is tired… “New.”
For the one who feels less-than… “All. New.”
For the one who cries out from an overwhelmed heart… “I. Make. All. Things. New.”
May we seek and find God in every season. Consider it pure joy, Friends.
What have you learned from the “autumns” of your life? How did God restore in “winter?” Take time to thank God for the “new” things He is preparing for you.
“The grass withers, and the flowers fall, but the word of our God stands forever.” Isaiah 40:8 (NIV)