It can’t be perpetual summer.  Not only do we need to cool down (fall), but we need a deep freeze.  We need an extended slow down.  And this is the stuff that can be painful for me.  I long for rest, but harnessing all our newfound, wild energy and exploration into a winter format feels formidable.  We can’t run: physically, outside, but also from one thing to the next.  We are stuck, idle, if only for a moment as we await decision-making and direction.  Life, not only the freezing temperatures, has created a winter for us.  We are a bit more trapped with ourselves.  As clouds settle overhead, we wonder if sun, warmth, and even purpose really are even possible.  Of course they are.  But we have forgotten that this doesn’t last forever.  The hard-driving forward motion has slowed.  Will we be dormant forever?  

God, you bring rain and you bring sun.  You dry up the ground and summon the leaves to fall.  One thing never stops leading to another.  So, too, with our hearts.  It glorifies you to feast and it glorifies you to famine.  We hibernate and retract.  We emerge.  We heal.  We thrive.  We swell with life and we wither.  We, too, revolve around a sun, different angles touching the healing light, different sides in the cast shadows.  Our respective moons orbit us; reflecting the sun, harmonizing, balancing us.  

As I hibernate, as the idleness brings question, doubt, concern, and confusion about purpose, well-being, direction, and truth, may the depths of this reality pierce me, ground me.  May I see a day as Your Making.  Come rain or drought, snow or sun, let it point to You.  How does it say your name?  How does functioning at this pace, so different than what feels natural, reveal You? How do we find You here, now?

Here I am, peering, straining out a window to find your sunrises, gaze at your nature that has been my defining backdrop. You, in that nature, so illusive and seemingly harder to find on this suburban street. But let me not miss the forest for the trees. Let me not miss the heavens for the earth. In my temperature-controlled, backlit, automated setting, let me not miss the now for the then. Let me find you here. As I watch the leaf fall, feel the temperature drop, notice the overcast haze consume, let me focus on the You that designed and orchestrated it so.

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