Fall Melancholy

The days are shorter, and although there's no noticeable difference in the warmth of the days, the nights are most certainly cooler now, and even the flies, which take up residence each summer in the basement steps have gone. Have they gone in search of warmer pastures, or is their season in the sun truly over. Another generation will be back next year, but for now, they have left us in peace.

Although I'm cheered somewhat by the sound of the various birds overhead heading towards their winter home, for the most part I find myself beset by an unnamed, nostalgic, melancholy. For years, I've tried to put my finger on what that feeling really was. Is it a sorrow for lost loves, lost youth, a regret that my learning days are over, my days of carefree abandonment, the realization that I will probably spend the rest of my life toiling for a living. Or is it something more that pulls this melancholy blanket down on my mind?

In recent years I've noticed that this malady, this wooly malaise, is not peculiar to me alone during the fall time of year. Many of us get a little wistful during this season as we're donning our coats once more, and digging our woolens out of storage. Some of us may hum to ourselves more, some of us may find we spend more time wrapped up in bed with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate. But most of us somehow experience that irresistible longing for something, something out there but undefined.

I'm not sure if it's true for anyone else, but at least for myself I have gradually brought to definition this mysterious feeling. It's something more than mere anticipation of the winter ahead. There are also memories of other autumns in other places, shared with other friends and family, many of whom are not in our lives any longer. So, along with the anticipation comes the realization that life is very fleeting. One of the reasons this time of year causes me to look back on my life is because I can see it passing through my hands so swiftly and I see that trying to hold on to life, like trying to hold on to a handful of sand, is just an illusion. This time of year also, subconsciously at least, reminds me that my days are growing shorter, that the seasons of our lives are temporary also. Part of me is frightened by that, even in spite of all I know, part of me is still afraid that this life as I know it will end someday.

Then I remember what Jesus said. I wonder if it was in the fall that He spoke those words to his disciples. I can picture them sitting around the fire in the evening, the cool of the fall evening, anticipating the coming of winter. Looking ahead without knowing that they were looking for His death, and ultimately, their own.

"Let not your heart be troubled," he said. 'You believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions, if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you, and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you unto my own, that where I am, there you may be also." John 14:1-3

"Don't be afraid," I can hear him saying, "This world is not the only place to live. My Father can create all kinds of worlds. If he couldn't I would have let you know the reality of what He is. But, the reality is, He cares for his own and you are His own. The reality is I am going on before you to Him. You don't have to be afraid, I will show you what everything you've ever been afraid of looks like. I will prove to you, by rising from the dead that life as you know it is not all there is, that there is so much more...many more horizons than you ever dreamed possible

Parker's Night Out

Our cat Parker, a quiet, shy, indoor cat, gets it in his head that he wants to go outside, not in the daylight where it would be safe, but out into the darkness. With each spring evening he stays out later and later until finally the darkness overtakes him. We call and call, but still he will not come in. We sit and wait for the inevitable and finally we hear the unmistakable sounds of a cat fight. We go to look for the wounded, but there is nothing, just some wisps of fur.

All night long we wait up, calling, waiting. Dozing off we even dream of calling, waiting, knowing that Parker is hurt somewhere. "If he only makes it back," we muse, "We can make him well again. We'll tend his wounds and protect him from the bully tom cat." But still he doesn't come.

Finally, just as it begins to turn light, he appears at the back door, silent, bruised and battered. He cannot face us yet, so he runs and hides in the closet. He refuses to come out to let us check his wounds. He is afraid even of us, the ones who love him. Why? Did we send him out into the darkness, did we harm him? Our desire was only that he be safe.

In the midst of the relief of it all, comes the revelation of our relationship to the Father. I see myself sitting there through the night and think of how it says of our heavenly Father "The Lord never slumbers neither does he sleep."

We want to explore the darkness; we think we can see what's out there without being hurt. But we can't. After the inevitable pain, we come crawling back to the Lord in fear. Is he going to hurt us too?

In II Sam 14:14 it says, "For we must needs die and as are water spilt on the ground which cannot be gathered up again; neither doth the Lord respect any person: Yet doth he devise means that his banished be not expelled from him."

God has provided the means for us to return to him through His Son. We no longer need to hide out, ashamed of our bruises, our brokenness, our sins. We can come back. He is always waiting.