The Fall

This fall has been the most beautiful I can ever remember experiencing.  The warmer temperatures and glorious sunshine that lingered allowed the leaves to ripen ever so slowly, drawing out their true colors in a spectacular show of God's palette.

Treetops stand out like flames blazing over rooftops, 

     

fireworks suspended in the branches,

 

glowing yellow dappled lights that work as the sunshine's minions even on the darkest, cloudiest days.

The extraordinary beauty of it all may be a result of weather patterns, or maybe I'm just more aware.  I am at a place of serenity, where God has given me the grace to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change (or at least attempt to change) the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.  

This season has been a serene one here in small-town Ohio.  At least, as far as the beauty of creation goes.  The world is tumultuous, our country is divided, and we as a race of humans are slowly coming to grips with the ramifications of our distracted half-living. But I have hope.

Because in the mornings I see the way the sun glows rising

and spreads its light through the trees to shower the earth.

And in the afternoons when I take walks and stop a thousand times to try and capture the way the light spreads through the leaves like fire 

and my phone's camera fails to do God's creation justice, I smile, knowing that all our man-made technology will never be enough to inspire and foster hope, goodness, love, mercy.  For that, we need something, Someone greater.

Because of that, I find myself more often on my knees giving thanks and seeking mercy.  On election day, I consecrated myself to Divine Mercy, because God is BIGGER and BETTER than this mess we have created for ourselves.  

I joke that I'm an eternal optimist--95% of the time.  But I am eternally optimistic, that is, optimistic about eternity.  No matter the messes we make for ourselves or the struggles we experience in dealing with other people or with our health or with the demons in our own minds, we have hope.  

I believe in our redemption through Christ and the cross, and I believe in the hope that rises with His resurrection, and I believe in the grace of His Divine Mercy which He offers any time we ask for it.

I pray that in this time of turmoil and change, as fall fades to winter and our country transitions to the next phase and the world continues to turn, that we all find the serenity and peace of mind needed to carry on hopefully.

When Little Lights Become Fires: i.e. adulthood

No longer a little light, there is now a fire inside, a flame burning hot and bright.

To some who have known me a long time, it seems frightening in its sudden ignition.  But the truest, bluest friends understand "It's about time."

We all come out bloody and screaming into this world, but our unique life experiences stretch us into our unique selves.  For some, the changes come early on.  Then there's me and all the other late bloomers.

Life throws its punches and I always just adapted and went with it, hiding my little light under its protective bushel.  The punches piled up and up on top of my bushel until one day the devil told me lies of such astronomical proportions (through someone I loved dearly) that I couldn't pretend to be who they wanted me to be anymore.  I needed to be me, really me.  In my darkest moment and deepest pain, I shoved the bushel off and let my light shine, really shine.

The growing pains from that leap into adulthood hurt more than I could comprehend, but the fire burning in me reminded me that no matter what, I was right, and I was being my truest self--take it or leave it.

I struggle at times to keep the flames in check.  Life keeps throwing punches, and I keep adapting when necessary, and fighting when adapting is not necessary.  Most days I'm okay, but some days my husband has to go downstairs to dig my stuffed cow out of the hot pink tub of memorabilia that was apparently stashed in storage too soon.  Because sometimes, I just need a hug from a fluffy, inanimate object that can't talk, yet still knows my deepest darkest secrets and has seen my fattest, wettest tears.

There's a fire in all of us, or a "monster" if you prefer.  The fear is that we will either be consumed by the flames or the flames will be stamped out.  The key, I believe, is to offer our fires, our monsters, to God, to give them to Him and let Him use them to accomplish His Will.  That offering, I believe, which is admittedly easier said than done, is how we will have life, and have it to the full. (John 10:10)

Open Fire

He builds a fire like the boy scout he is--

newspapers, matches, planks of wood

that turn flames green and blue and purple.

The light autumn breeze blows

smoke in the face

but we are fine:

content.

He busts out a cast iron pan to make us a snack,

drops popcorn seeds in,

covers it with foil and we wait.  

The butter catches on fire,

and we watch the sad popcorn burn,

then try again

a different way.

It's edible this time, so we eat

content.

Sirens wail and we wonder if the drunk kids on campus are at it again.

The sirens don't fade into the distance;

they come closer.

The sirens wail for us.

The firemen come around back, 

say they got a call that a fence was on fire,

but they see that all is contained.

"What are you cooking?" one asks.

"It was a sad, half-ass attempt at popcorn."

"Glad to hear it.

You're not allowed to have an open fire in Dayton 

unless it's for cooking.  

Always make sure you've got some marshmallows handy in case we show up."

He winks, they leave, we laugh:

is that true or was he just saying that because he wants toasted marshmallows?