We are nearing the end of Nature’s preparation for rest. From joyful bursts of unearthly gold-infused hues to balmy days of cobalt blue and majestic cloud-white, now visible through sky holes left by falling leaves. It’s no wonder fall is the favorite for many people. I think we all feel a bit bittersweet as the yellow calms down, comes down, and is replaced by the wild branch-dance of trees set free from their heavy summer clothes.
This determined march into winter comes with a surprising gift: I can see clearly now. I see into the woods, noticing contours of slightly rolling hills — Ohio isn’t perfectly flat after all! I see glorious sunrises and aching lovely sunsets. I see a multitude of busy squirrels, and catch fleeting glances of owls silently gliding through tangles of bare branches. Bright color is replaced by complex texture, deep earthy moss greens, a range of gentle grays accented by rich loamy browns. The dreariness of February’s monochrome is still distant.
We stand on holy ground. Season cycles, like all of nature, are profoundly illustrative, staging Divine object lessons in living art. My own art is a response to this revelation of God’s affinity. The holy use of human imagination allows me to see God in personal ways and His word comes to life. Even in the roil of damaged nature and unsettledness among people, I am led in a Creation prayer from Genesis 1:
Hear my heart, O Lord, hear my ascending cry. May the voice of Jesus speak light in our shadowy confusion. Though our future appears to be a growing unlit void, let there be light, the radiance of your presence in this ominous darkness.
Bring to me an awareness of your presence. Show me the difference between the practicality of this world and the elevated reality of your visible omnipresence in heaven. Let my heart and mind be drawn upward, separated from the churning waters below. Waters dark and deadly wash over me from the very sources to which I look for connection: Waters of isolation and loneliness, the feeling I am unloveable, unattractive, missing out on something. Tidal waves of social media, dramatic documentaries of success, familiarity with lives having nothing to do with mine, leave me sinking in the despair of comparison.
Place firm footing under me, a true, unmoving foundation. Give me the real, noticeable, fulfilling presence of Jesus. On this fertile ground plant my daily bread. Grant me access to the tree of spiritual life, physical life, emotional life — the Tree of Life bearing fruitful seed in me.
Let understanding and clarity lead me, like a full moon in blinding darkness sprinkled with star-sparkles of hope and comfort and direction. And when it’s time, may the dawn of full-grown faith bring rejoicing with its brightness.
May my life be filled with colorful joy, emotions that soar on bird’s wings, Even in the depths of isolation, show me the solemn beauty surrounding my life; oceans of wonder.
Give me family, friends, a church, a community of caring. Let our lives touch each other, making the way pleasant and possible - especially when I feel alone.
And like nature in fall, draw me into your rest, Sabbath rest celebrating the secret renewal and renovation taking place when a seed dies and is buried, suddenly revealed with spring’s morning-bird song.
Amen.
And it was so.
May each leaf, each twig, every bracing cold wind, even the gray days ahead, point us to a future and a hope.
