I have been in the mountains with family for a few days. In fact, musty sleeping bags are still lying on the laundry room floor, begging to be cleaned.
From inside my tent, here is what I woke to each morning: My sanctuary in the woods.
It’s early August and already I have begun to notice the shortening of days, the slightest repositioning of our place on the planet in relation to
the sun. Summer is slowly draining away like a blow-up pool being emptied out for winter storage.
They are harvesting pears today in the orchard next to my house. The hum of tractors; the thump of bins; the jovial shouts of migrant workers. And Boo, my granddaughter’s black Lab, stealing their lunch remains…
Next will be the hop harvest, the source of our own sustenance. Trucks scurrying back and forth on the road at the end of our driveway; long, lush vines loaded with voluptuous cones spilling over their plyboard sides; Mexican music filling the air which is still warm at midnight; machines cranking and grinding, and the smell of drying hops wafting across the pasture between us. My own tomato vines are burgeoning with fruit, heavy and tired from all the effort.
Autumn, Fall, remains my favorite time of year, though I soooo love Spring with its promises piercing the ground’s surface like so many sword tips. And Summer is–not HAS, IS–a life all its own.
There is this tiniest cloud looming on the horizon: Winter. But even that doesn’t hold sway over my end-of-summer euphoria the way it used to. There is something about learning to stay in the present, to receive each moment as its own gift, that diffuses the power of concern over what may come–and who of us can’t come up with a few justifiable things to worry about?
I don’t know if it’s gardening, or grandsons becoming men, or just what has precitated it, but I am experiencing an accelerated awareness of season. And with it has come an increased sense of God with me in each. That too, diffuses worry.
A friend recently tuned me into a song, Anchor.* I don’t stay abreast of new[er] music the way I used to–it’s a choice. But this one, like grace, came and found me and won’t leave me alone. Perhaps singing it with 24 female inmates two weeks ago has enhanced its mesmerizing effect on me.
In every season, in every change, you are near
In every sorrow, in every pain, you are near
A peace in the storm, you are the voice i will follow
In heartache I’m healed, remembering your love for me…
…A light in the dark, your name is the answer
In weakness I rise remembering you hold my world
I’m holding onto hope, I’m holding onto grace
I’m fully letting go, surrendered to your ways
The anchor for my soul, Father you will never change…
I’m not sure I could sing this from a cell. Some days I’m hard-pressed to sing it from within my own relatively comfortable, mostly self-determined surroundings. But I am learning to let God be with me wherever, whenever, however I am. To know it and to experience it. In every season.
(Check out the PDF in Bonus below for full text and credits.)
Here are two versions:
For my worship leader friends, find Anchor PDF here.
COMMENT: Or for you own reflection…
What’s your favorite season?
Can you let God be with you in each?
How does that influence your thinking, feeling about different seasons?