As the November days dwindle, thankfulness has made its way to the surface of our minds. And with the end of this month, we also have to prepare to bid farewell to the last bits of sunshiny warmth and patches of color. We do this in order to welcome the biting chill and dull color that seem to have snuck into winter's suitcase, here to stay for the duration. We get to witness the change take place, and never have I ever found this so difficult.
Sometimes I don't know how I made it so long without noticing the grand changing of the seasons. Maybe it was my lack of attention for detail, or the less drastic changes my surroundings underwent growing up. Yet here in Clemson, not noticing would be like not realizing the sun has risen in the morning. Here, autumn is the very peak of life, vibrancy at its finest. The sunlight hits the leaves in such a way during the golden hour that it almost seems as if the trees are ablaze.
After experiencing the colors dance, I've come to dread watching the fire go out and the deadness take its place. Post vibrant color we must endure a season of whites and grays and emptiness.
I used to think winter was a season of emptiness-- now I know it is a season of hope.
When the ground around you has been overcome by shades of grey, hope is hard to muster, until you remember a promise. Life will come if you trust. And not just any old life, life to the full.
The trees are our example. They do not waver, for they know the Father always delivers. They live on the edge, with radiant color. Then they are emptied only to be filled again with greens that proclaim "Glory!" and warmth that restores. Winter is only a season of waiting. And never will that waiting be in vain, no matter the time it takes. The Father loves too much to keep life from His creation.
As the seasons inevitably change, I am thankful for that.