Fall is in the
air. I can feel it in my bones. No, I don’t see it, and—aside from a faint
sense of days cooling—I don’t feel it.
But it’s there. It’s coming. Maybe it’s the fact that the heat is less
intense these days. I’m down to one
shower a day now here in Kona, Hawaii.
Like the tail end of an Indian Summer in the Northwest, we are lingering
between summer and fall. We pull the blanket on us earlier in the
evening when Randy and I fall into bed.
My husband
thinks I’m crazy for saying that fall is beginning, or that it’s even
cooler. But I know it’s just around the
corner. It’s more than outward
appearances. It’s a knowing of a season, of an imprint in my soul, like some kind
of genetic cycle as sure as the maple leaves turning yellow in my native Forest
Park in Portland.
When I got home
today after a missions celebration, the culmination of our first unit of study
at our boys’ school, I made motions towards my bed. I needed a nap. But it would have to wait. There was a fall lighting that filled up my room,
squeezing between the flickering blinds on my window. I couldn't pass it
up. It was lower in the sky and softer
than normal. It drew me out onto the
lanai from my nap.
What was that?
An edge to the
heat. A sense of expectation. Newness to come.
As a school
teacher, fall has always brought a sense of a fresh start. It’s a new school year
here in Kona, and new families are coming in to our co-op school community. But there’s an on-the-edgeness in my spirit
as well. Strong enough to come see, to look and wait and pray, to see
what God might be up to in this new season.
I find it
interesting that I just submitted an article to the local paper about a ship
coming in this Saturday. Yet I find
myself in my mind’s eye standing on a dock, waiting. Waiting for a ship—a new thing and rare treat—to
come in. How could my soul sense fall
when my body scarcely senses any freedom at all?
I've seen
glimpses of that new ship. In my heart
she’s called Hope. When people cannot find her, they yell out
for Hope found, for expectations met. I must have a ride on that ship. “Hope
deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12
Let’s not defer
hope any longer.
As I got up from
my nap and cooked up some zucchini, green beans, and sweet onions from the
market, I relished every bit of the fall meal preparation. I sensed the ship was already coming in. There were things that we didn't expect to
happen in this season in our lives, but they are happening. Randy has been asked to preach at our church
once a month. Friends who take the
services at the chapel at Waikaloa Hilton asked if we would give the message
and lead worship there monthly as well.
Out on the lanai,
I asked the Lord why this favor. He
reminded me that we have been faithfully working, patiently plowing.
I wondered if it
was another reason as well. I have been asked
to re-join our worship team at church, something I occasionally did a year ago. I had been feeling like music was missing in
my life, and our pastor just asked me if I’d start playing keys and singing
again, starting this Sunday.
The university where I work has asked me to write
articles for the paper. Other than one
earlier press release, I wondered if this would actually happen.But when I was asked to write this piece about the ship coming in, I began to have hope. I co-authored
it with a gentleman in the community, and then was asked to come to the advance
interview with the YWAM Ships director and the reporter to help navigate this
whole paper-publicity stuff. I didn't
see that coming.
But it is
coming.
I believe I had
to lay down my desire to help lead worship.
I had to let go of my hankering to write regularly for the paper. I went through a season of being humbled over
some things. These desires went into
the ground and have now sprung back up.
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| Jo Jo, age two, peeks into our dining room from next to our Japanese Maple bush, moving into full color. |
A fall memory I
have of back home was how our Japanese lace maple tree would turn bright red in
October. It stood just outside our
dining room, where we had one single painting on the wall: it was a large print by Raoul Dufy called The Harvest. We would enjoy it with our little boys as we
looked out onto the world, the trees turning in Forest Park, and as we welcomed
the seasons of our lives.
I welcome this fall season now here in Hawaii, even if I only
feel it in my bones. |
| Evan's kindergarten field trip to the pumpkin patch. |
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| Multnomah Falls is one of our favorite places to visit in the fall when home in Portland. |
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| A huge smile for a boy who found a HUGE leaf pile! |
