Have you ever seen a fall so spectacular?
The Lovely Lady asked me—Me!—the question as we drove down the highway a week ago. She, who knows me better than any living person, asked the rhetorical question. Of course, you know rhetorical means you’d better not answer it any differently than the questioner quite obviously desires.
She knows I really don’t like autumn. Okay. Let’s call it by its real name—the one that describes it to a “T”. Fall. I don’t like fall.
I’m adamant about it.
You know what adamant is, don’t you? Besides a state of mind, it’s a type of very hard stone, once believed to be impenetrable—like a diamond. Adamant. That’s me when it comes to disliking fall.
But, the question hung in the air. Her rhetorical one.
I mumbled something. It may have sounded like, “I guess it’s okay.” I glanced over her way. She wasn’t just glancing. She was frowning right at me.
I thought I heard a little cracking sound. I smiled. “Yeah, it’s pretty spectacular,” I agreed. I did. I’m sure I heard a cracking sound.
The cracking sound has been so constant and so loud for the last few days, it’s almost deafening.
Well? 
How does one ignore the spectacular beauty surrounding him on every side? Every corner I turn, every hill I top, reveals another vista that beggars me for description.
The colors, the scope, the array of diverse shapes and hues are breathtaking. Indeed, they appear more striking and brighter than in any fall I can remember.
Perhaps, I’m only getting old and forgetful. Then again, perhaps not.
The reason for the cracking noise, the breaking away of the adamant, wasn’t obvious to me until a friend brought it to my attention tonight. She reminded me that I have suggested fall was simply prelude to the dead of winter, a season sent only to remind us of the bleakness to come.
She’s right. I have done that. I have.
I repent. In more ways than just this, I repent.
Our Creator—the maker of all seen and unseen—gives good gifts. (James 1:17) Good. Gifts. The seasons, even the ones we find uncomfortable, are from His hand, achieving exactly what He intended for them from the foundation of the earth.
While the earth continues in its place, they will continue. (Genesis 8:22) He promised it.
Why would we dread the good He has promised to us?
Oh, I know each of the seasons has its difficulties. It is true for every one of them. Even spring, with its new life and verdant beauty, has its floods and violent storms. Summer stinks of sweat and is sweltering in its extremes. Autumn brings cold rains and reminders of death as the lushness of all growing things flees the coming cold. And winter? Well, perhaps I’ll just leave that to your own cold, dreary thoughts.
But each of the seasons, every one, has its promise and its joys.
Our God gives good gifts.
Still, you know I don’t dislike autumn only for its physical reminders of what is to come, don’t you?
We are not, for all the attempts of the cynics among us, primarily physical beings. These bodies, astounding as they are (some more than others), are merely containers for the real treasure, the thing our Creator values above all other created things.
And yet, we become attached to our containers. We pamper them. We feed them. We exercise them. We care for them.
What we don’t like to be reminded of is that one day we’ll leave the container behind, like the empty wrapper it will become, and the real part of us, the part valued most by our Creator, will go on to its eternal home.
I wonder why we hate that reminder so. A friend of mine wrote today of his anger in the face of a friend’s death. Another person quoted a poem as they comforted a mother, still grieving her son after eighteen years.
I know, she wrote, but I am not resigned. And, I do not approve. The words were from the poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay. I don’t disagree with them.
Still. Winter is coming. For every one of us, it comes.
I’m no theologian. I don’t understand what God’s plan was. I don’t know if the earth was to be our eternal home, and He would walk with us here in the cool of the day for all time. Maybe one day we would just walk up to heaven to live with Him. I don’t know.
And, it’s okay. I think it’s even okay to be angry about our losses, to disapprove of the manner in which we are separated from those we love. We were never intended to die.
But eventually, it comes around to this: We are still eternal beings.
The winter of our lives is not ultimately about death, but about life. The Son of God who came to earth, giving His own life for us, guarantees it.
The winter of our lives is not ultimately about death, but about life. The Son of God who came to earth, giving His own life for us, guarantees it. Share on X
And just like that, I am—recently liberated from my prison of adamant—enjoying this season immensely.
Autumn has never—Never!—been so spectacular. I don’t want to waste another moment of its glory worrying about the season which will follow. Not another moment.
And so, this old container took my redeemed soul for a walk in the autumn rain today with the Lovely Lady. Laughing and soaking in the beauty of nature and the reminders of His grace and great love, we walked together, as we have in so many seasons before.
What a wonderful season in which to be alive. Physically. Spiritually.
And, my soul sings for joy. For some reason, I think I hear creation singing, as well.
Perhaps you know the tune, too.
O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works thy hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed:
Then sings my soul, “My Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!”
(from How Great Thou Art ~ Stuart Hine ~ English missionary ~ © 1949 and 1953 by the Stuart Hine Trust. USA print rights administered by Hope Publishing Company.)
For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater:
So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.
(Isaiah 55:10-11 ~ KJV)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2018. All Rights Reserved.