It’s been cooler lately. Rainy. Summer is whispering her last secrets through the weeds and over the lakes, through the tips of trees and on my cheek. In the mornings I run with a long-sleeved shirt and feel my legs shiver until they move enough to get warm. I cover E’s legs with an extra blanket and wonder constantly about whether or not to pack a hat. Feel his cheeks with the back of my hand, check to make sure his hands and chest are warm. I look forward to showing him the seasons, to seeing them change and seeing them through his eyes.
Fall has always been my favorite time of year, I’m usually aglow with excitement for the season to come. But.My mom has always said that fall makes her melancholy. The season she most loves is coming to an end, the dark and cold of winter loom ever-more-present, lurk in the mornings and evenings. And while I’ve never been a fan of winter, I embrace fall with a wide smile and open arms.
I’m still smiling at the changing of season, but I’m approaching this fall with awareness that in a way, a season of my life has come to an end. My heart has been broken in a way that I can’t explain yet, but can’t deny.
Nature is so good at growth and change. A season comes with small simple announcements. A shifting of color, expression. No wailing, no fighting back tears, no wasting time in rewind. No fitting in to expectations or meeting strict deadlines. No forsaking her soul to be what someone else needs or thinks she should be. But ALWAYS on time. And ALWAYS is enough, gives so much–each and every day. Nature doesn’t adorn herself with accessories or accoutrements. Nature faces each season nakedly. Openly. Embracing whatever difficulties time may bring and then carries on.
These are trying times. Times I am trying and failing. Weeping in quiet, crying in the shower–when and if I can get them. Tired eyes. Tired, wrinkled, heavy skinned, dry eyes searching for signs of life and hope. And here’s where I am lucky. In this season of brokenness is so much beauty. So much life–in my son and in him hope. Hope that I can summon the strength and carry on to show him what a strong woman is each day. To show him joy in spite of my pain. To show him life, and how it changes–even when I’m not sure I like parts of my life and how they have changed. In this time I am given a gift–a constant reminder to never lose hope, to never stop trying, to never cease to fall to my knees and pray a prayer of thanksgiving. I get this gift everyday.
God is meeting me more than half way. Making me into a mother, crafting the seasons to shape me into something more beautiful (even if I’m less “pretty”) every single day.
I want a new tattoo. To remind me. If I were more rested, maybe I wouldn’t need a reminder, but I am weary and can’t sleep. So when I say this on Pinterest during a late night nursing session, something stirred in me:
The Archer knows His mark. Weary and weathered, broken-hearted and strung tight against the dividing line, I can’t lose sight. Not now. With so much of my little one’s and my life on the line. So each day we will run at sunrise, and walk at sunset. And in the most trying times, the most weary and disheartening days, I will keep my eyes open to the mark, keep my heart alert for the Maker’s message:
With Love from Colorado,