Dear one,
Wistfully … I delight in the scene before me, and yet what I see is a very clear reminder: summer has passed which means, for me (my California upbringing once again revived) that winter is not far distant.
Wistfully … these days I walk by our hearth and mantle into the study with its windows, which … for now … look out upon a variety of hardwood and evergreen trees, some towering over a goodly expanse of grass—the grass muted in color, particularly in contrast to the still-blooming geraniums and roses, the just-flaming crimson maples, and the dawning, bright-yellow of the sweet gums.
“Oh! but what of fall?” you might plead.
“Ah, it is glorious,” I concede, “and it’s not that I don’t find delight in winter—I do delight in the dark, clear-cold nights and the inviting glow and warmth of the fire in the fireplace; or in a powder-fresh, crystal snowfall—but I prefer the invigorating heat of summer’s sun.”
Wistfully … I pass by our fireplace, not only because it portends winter, but because it reminds me that life, my life, is “seasonal.” For me this thought is neither new nor morbid; rather, I heard my grandparents, and then my parents, and now my peers offer the same: “How did this happen? I can still remember when … a 1963 corvette was truly coveted and Twiggy was avant-garde.” (And I can hear our grandchildren ask: “Who’s Twiggy?” the very grandchildren for whom we purchased a basketball goal and hoop—and now I’m inclined to shoot a few baskets late-afternoon, something I did regularly fifty-seven years ago when I was … when I was fourteen. Hmm … the age of our oldest grandson.)
With these thoughts I am also regularly encouraged by the Psalms. For instance:
“Those who love me,” [says the LORD,] “I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name.When they call to me, I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble, I will rescue them and honor them. With long life I will satisfy them, and show them my salvation” (Psalm 91:14-16).
These are words my father read regularly in 1944, as he piloted a B-24 over Europe, including two missions on D-Day. That was a remarkable season for a twenty-five-year-old … and then fatherhood … and a career … and great grandchildren … and retirement at age ninety-six.
Our hope always lies in the heart of the One, who lovingly knows our seasons.
Seasonal,
Stan