seasons are a'changin'

The yellow aspen leaves are just about gone. Only a tenacious few remain behind. Frozen to a crisp, most have curtsied off their branches and plopped crunchy, resolutely, on the ground. Winter is coming. It was in the teens this past week (in the early morning). The air is brisk, but it doesn't feel as cold as the numbers figure. I walked to work with wet hair, supposing it was in the thirties--and was surprised to find out it was about twenty degrees colder than my best guesstimation. I'm pretty sure it was a brewing snow cloud that surrounded Mt. Drum today. Ready or not, here it comes...


I'm settling. Becoming more comfortable with the silence. Grateful for the space to sit and watch the sun beams be sun beams, to watch the tall and lean pines sway. There is a growing routine... tackling dishes on my day off, attempting to cook and prepare a few meals on the day before I head back to work. Faces are becoming more familiar. Candles have been used. Towels have been washed a couple times.

Even as I'm settling, accepting the angles of this new season and seeing and tasting the good, there are moments that are difficult. I'll have an upsurge of loneliness, aching for the easy friendship of home, aching for this apartment to be not just mine, but my family's, aching for the ministry ties I hope to see realized, aching for encouragement from coworkers. I'll have an upsurge of fear, afraid that my nursing skills will atrophy for intermittent or infrequent use, afraid that I will learn bad habits because I'm not always being overseen by a more senior nurse, afraid that I'll assume too quickly, incorrectly and jeopardize a patient's safety, afraid that I'll get stuck here forever because of their difficulty recruiting nurses, afraid that space I intend for knowing God more will be skimmed down and filled with entertainment or unnecessaries, afraid that my heart for this community won't be seen and that after trying to invest, I'll be misunderstood, forgotten, lose energy, enthusiasm and intentionality, that all my motives and hopes and dreams for this season will slip like sand through open fingers...

Call these new challenges the wind. Preparing and planning for this move was an enthusiastic jump out of the boat..."Jesus, I will go!" As I now attempt to walk it out, increasingly more aware of my surroundings and where I have come, it is as if I've felt wind on my face, as if I seen the waves rising, and fear has flooded in where faith had not welcomed it before. And it is only the beginning. And Jesus speaks, "take heart, it is [yet] I, who is with you. Do not be afraid. Do not doubt, hold fast to who you know I am." (Matthew 14:26-31). And I know Jesus has me here.

Pray with me as I enter a new season: winter, yes, october, almost, but also the settling of my heart. I know I'm not to be anxious, I know Christ lends his peace to guard our hearts, I know I am to be content in all circumstances with Christ. I challenge you, as I now challenge myself, to learn to better live this knowledge.

Lord, give me eyes to see and embrace whatever it is you have for me in each and every new day. One patient interaction? One conversation with a coworker? One act to choose servanthood or diligence over sloth? Creating space to be with you, to surrender the things on my heart in this moment? I believe Lord, that you are a God of purpose; help me Lord to see your purpose in new ways, to no longer blur the lines of purpose and productivity...

"[For my determined purpose is] that I may know Him-that I may progressively become more deeply and intimately acquainted with Him, perceiving and recognizing and understanding [the wonders of His person] more strongly and more clearly, that I may in that same way come to know the power outflowing form His resurrection; and that I may so share His sufferings as to be continually transformed [in spirit into His likeness even] to His death." Phil. 3:10 AMP