Over two months it has been since the school year started, and we're riding the coattails of fall. The last of the trees are blushing as they take of their clothes, the air is dry and crispy as the leaves, and the people of Holland are sporting their flannel with newfound gusto. Everything is golden, from the leaves to the drinks to the smiles on familiar faces. Nature celebrates the end of a good year with fireworks and harvest before the coming cold.
Of all the seasons I think I underestimate Fall the most. Perhaps it's because the water's too cold to swim and there's no snow to board on. Yet every year I am surprised by how much I enjoy this season. Chapel mornings find me waking up before the dawn to play music with the people I love. The special hatred reserved solely for the morning alarm is short lived, and before long I'm riding down the street and through the sleepy campus. I find my favorite part of the day over a yellow mug and fresh sunshine as it spills over the horizon, music still swelling in my chest. I am in the best of company these days.
Yet in the midst of gold and gladness, I am reminded by the falling leaves of the fragility of these times. Classes are getting harder. I am learning more and more about who my friends are, their strengths, their foibles. The giddiness of summer has faded, and some things that seemed so bright and green and alive have turned dry, only to fall to the wayside. Indeed it is here in this season that we learn what's going to last, what's going to win through to Spring. Fall teaches a lesson in permanence. Our days are so precious. All of Hope grieves yet another tragic loss of one of our own. An early morning phone call throws me out of bed. My dad passes out behind the wheel on his way to Holland, veering off the road and into the trees at highway speeds. What shock! What pain! What heartbreak! How crushing is the weight of grief! What words can we speak?
I hold to but one hope, one blessed assurance, one unshakeable bastion of strength in the midst of fragility and brokenness. It is the one who spoke into the silence, and even now speaks into ours. It is the one who knows and loves. I remember the words of Paul: "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Ro 8: 38-39). And this is not the love of some robed geezer looking down from a heavenly cloud. This is the love of a God rich with thick, raw, incomparable goodness. This God grieves with us, weeps with us, and longs for the day when we will see him face to face. It is this God who saw my father safely home. It is this God who embraces us as we mourn. It is this God who guides us in the depths of darkness, and it is this God who in time brings us out of darkness and into the glory of a new dawn. He is the one whose promises are sure and whose faithfulness never wavers. He is the one who longs to bless us beyond our wildest dreams.
What joy! What promise! Frosty air and hot cider! In these we can celebrate fall. Goodness wins the day and I am shot through with it, giddy to the bones.
