“I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud. So, I like best of all autumn, because its leaves are a little yellow, its tone mellower, its colours richer, and it is tinged a little with sorrow and a premonition of death. Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring, nor of the power of summer, but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age. It knows the limitations of life and is content. From a knowledge of those limitations and its richness of experience emerges a symphony of colours, richer than all, its green speaking of life and strength, its orange speaking of golden content and its purple of resignation and death.” Source: My Country and My People, Lyn Yutang
My inbox held this piece of written art the other day. It reminded me of the beauty of all seasons and the appreciation I have for each one. Coming from Minnesota as I do, I cannot match the affirmation of the writer. However, I will agree that this season is exceptionally beautiful as vibrant colors peak.
Towards the end, the season becomes ominously subdued creating a type of beauty all its own. I will read this quote a few more times as it is completely worthy of time spent in reflection.
My origin-of-birth filter also noted that Lyn Yutang made no mention of winter. Perhaps three seasons is more than adequate for those in Southern China where references to winter blizzards must certainly be rare.
Anyway, back to my story. After reading the quote, I was full of peace and more than a little coffee. It was time to begin the weekend chores. You know, the stuff that’s haunting (a casualty of this particular season - sorry.) your mind during the Monday through Friday workweek. The weekend is finally here, and the thrill of excitement is unbearable as you realize that the opportunities to enjoy doing laundry, getting haircuts, cutting grass, trimming bushes, and buying groceries are finally upon you.
Right.
As I open the door, I see the scourge of autumn and the words that began this article die on the vine, if you will.
It seems that I am ‘blessed’ with living in this small area of the complex that includes one particular tree and its associated leaves. Just one building to the south, the elaborate shedding of solar collectors takes on a new form entirely. I’m not saying that my neighbor’s autumn experience is free of intrusion, but they do not have to deal with four to six weeks of what you see in the photo.
These tiny little blades wiggle and squirm and settle in any crevice, any corner, any location that supplies an access point as small as the width of my hair. I turned my defroster on the other day, and one fluttering remnant was gracefully ejected from the vent.
You will notice that eventually, I fought back. Indeed, removing and replacing the cover on the front of the car takes time. It’s even made me ask, “Is it absolutely necessary that I go out today?”. Just so you know, the answer is often no. But still, when I do make the commitment to leave home, it is easier to perform the take-it-off-put-it-back-on procedure than to deal with the autumnal evidence of death.
Now that you feel sorry for me, I’ll tell you what I’m aiming at today.
Everywhere. It’s the only description that can apply.
- Everywhere I go, this world tempts me to allow morals and ethics to fall swirling and fighting every inch of the way to the ground below in efforts to succeed in the eyes of the world.
- Everywhere I go, this world looks to invade the residence of my soul and to infiltrate my defenses using the slightest crack of an opening to overthrow my desire to live as Christ lives.
- Everywhere I go, I can see the evidence of death and decay caused by my own choices.
- Everywhere I go, I can . . .
Wait!
Rewind.
- Everywhere I go, the pieces of autumn swirl around me. I watch them land on my car leaving small leaf-prints of color. I feel the wet squish of waterlogged debris under my feet on some days. I hear the crunch of brittleness under the soles of my shoes on other occasions. If I think about it, however, these castoffs can show me a path. They can supply a muted moment of introspection that questions where I am going while offering a pause to consider where I should be going.
- Everywhere I look I am faced with reluctant yellow-and-brown that dares me to force great numbers of intruders from the white and comfortable metal to the ground. But, while cleaning the windshield, I can metaphorically sweep the possibility of death, despair, and destruction caused by anger, frustration, disappointment, and judgment away with the brush of my hand and begin again. From hopeless to hopeful in one gesture!
- Everywhere I go, these reminders can be the gift of God that says, “Trust Me. I can bring good out of anything”
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7
Well, bringing good out of anything probably wasn't meant for the inconvenience of falling leaves, but the analogy still works. In fact, it's the reason for this platform; Be aware by using what is seen, felt, and heard to help bring me closer to God.
And with all I’ve learned, I have more to absorb. Last week, I bought new bath towels – well, bath sheets I guess they’re called. I thought black would be nice. Perhaps next week’s article could be called “Keep the Black Fuzz and Make a New Towel. “.
Siri responds, "Forget about it. You've had too much coffee."
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