Unlike my wonderful friend and colleague, I am NOT fond of fall—at all. Even the word, fall—I don’t like to. It might hurt me if I fall too hard. I despise the darkness coming too early in the evening and I grasp on to the bits of summer that persist in a tight grip, trying desperately to hold tight to my flowers, my grass, my little garden. I wear sleeveless shirts, shorts, and sandals until I cannot bear the chill on my extremities any longer. S’mores by the fire pit and badminton on the lawn are already a distant memory. It’s become too cold for coffee on the porch at sunrise and wine at sunset.
I console myself that yet another season is coming to an end with the endless beauty of God’s colorful orange, yellow, and brown artistry; the smell of green chile roasting in my home; screaming at NFL football players either in victory or frustrating defeat; pumpkin spice—sometimes; and warm blankets in front of my computer, TV, and fireplace. I console myself that another season is approaching—one of giving thanks for my countless blessings and another of gift-giving, a reminder of the Ultimate gift that was born unto us. I console myself that I am blessed with memories and gifts with every season.
Fall reminds me that nothing lasts forever. These seasons too will come to an end with the pretty white buds of spring that make me smile. And through it all, what have I learned? Have I smiled? Laughed? How have I loved? What difference have I made? Life is not stagnant. It is vibrant and in constant motion. I was reminded of that today— Isaiah 43:18 “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. 19 See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
Will I dwell? Will I resist and let the mistakes of the past, disappointments, negativity, and uncertainty of the future exhaust me and make me struggle against life’s motion? Or will I grow and purify myself with it like the rush of a river? I’m learning lately that rather than living “topándome,” abruptly, from one season to the next, I should dance with them and in between them, letting them mold me and guide me with what I should leave behind and take into the next.
Fine, I’ll embrace you, Fall—and all that you will bring with you!