Scattered

Late autumn leaves lay scattered, curled and brown on weather faded lawn. Morning showers have given way to chill breeze and clouded sunshine.

The responsible firstborn in me says, "You really should go rake up those leaves." The would-be poet sits...and studies...and looks for metaphors.

In the light of the writer's eye, all of life's snapshots are suspect. There are always lines to be read between. Images to suggest deeper images. And so I catch myself staring and doing the daily volley of right brain, left brain, deep lob by right brain, left brain standing with forced civility saying, "And that was helpful because....?"

Today the sitting wins and the leaves speak of life's fragility.

Seasons come and go and the leaves' claim to bold branch living is tenuous, at best. At least their demise is predictable. First the cold snap. Color flushes in...last gasp on grasp of life? Every shade of red-orange-gold imaginable in a stationary parade of brilliance. And we marvel, and sigh, and consume the sights and smells like desperate men before a last meal.

It is Fall and fall they will. We who live the seasons know this well. Yet there is time to prepare for winter's coming. We put the beds to bed. Coil hoses. Rake leaves. Don storm windows...and rake more leaves. Firewood is stacked. Snow shovels stand ready.

But for many...too many lately...the cold and the dark, illness, death, calamity of one size and another have snuck up with unwelcome surprise.

So as light wanes I gaze once again upon my leaf strewn yard and see a reminder of waning strength, of life, so brief. Of griefs endured and night-long bedside vigils. Of fractured families and broken hearts. Of wars and strife and loved ones far from home.

The leaves are scattered like so many lives and so many pleadings for prayer, and hope, and help. So many needing comfort, healing, protection, provision, forgiveness.


And I speak to God...



Why do I still so easily whine? How is it that my heart must be constantly led back to Thanksgiving? Truly my light and momentary troubles are nothing. And truly I am always held by my loving Father. Every valley of the shadow of death, or despair, or depression has been traversed with You, my wise and tender Shepherd. Every one. 

How many times have You carried me?

Jesus, You are refuge and strength. Thank you for making a way for me. Will you make a way for those I love? You see all that's scattered. I know You can make it whole. In Your time. In Your ways that are above my ways. You are the God of the holding and the healing. You see the faces and families that run through my mind in this moment. 

How I thank you for these lives that touch mine...rejoicing and weeping. 

There is no love where there is not risk. And You continue to show me that it is a privilege to ache for others, to bear with unloveliness, to stay in the journey, to lay my life down. 

Thank you for Your life, broken for mine... How I long for that day when all that is scattered will be made whole.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 

“Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. 

They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.

 There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain..." 

Revelation 21:3,4