Autumn Light

The turn into autumn has always been my favorite. Growing up in Lawrence, Kansas gave me copious amounts of mature red and orange trees. The aspen yellow here in Colorado is incomparable, but I find myself every year yearning for the deeper, brighter reds of my childhood home. As a child, fall held the promise of a new school year and fresh school supplies. It was a season of transition, much like the leaves and the eventual relenting of summer heat.

Yet I would be remiss if I did not confess that Colorado autumns are still where I would rather be. There’s a certain crispness in the air. Mountain peaks are suddenly covered in snow. The smell of Christmas joy seems to arrive a little bit sooner, overlapping with fall as it whispers its promises. And now, as my children are the ones who step into a new school year, my heart begins yearning for the mountains in a fresh, familiar way.

“To the mountains,” my heart prods with each breath. “Home to the mountains.”

Because two places are home for us: the Front Range and the mountains. Perhaps it is generations on both sides who traversed the entire state. Or maybe it is because we have called both home in our own right in different seasons. We do not seem to be content, never fully ourselves, without both.

There is something more in the air this year - a deeper shift that every part of me wants to rush headlong into. But wisdom reminds me not to run ahead of the Lord. He has already gone wherever He is calling me, but His timing must supersede my own. He is never early. Never late. He is right on time. And I have learned to trust Him.

So I find myself curled up on my couch this morning, writing and waiting. Action and stillness held together in one breath. Is it my breath, or is it His? Yahweh — the very breath in our lungs — is orchestrating what I have only seen in part. I can trust Him with the rest.

The autumn light hits a snowcapped mountain peak, reflecting His promises and calling me forward.

One courageous, faith-filled step at a time.