This Is Us

It's coming. You can feel it in the bones, this annual gateway to fall. Step outside early in the morning before the world cries out, before the first sip of that steaming mug of coffee. The crisp morning air, it dares you to inhale deep, to stretch luxuriously into those glowing edges of summer.

The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let go. Such a divine thought to ingest way down deep into the belly of all that that we are clutching furiously tight to the breast. Inhale the richness of grace, exhale the courageous beauty of change. Watch expectantly as the leaves begin to frolic, as the colors burst into a fashion show of blazing colors.

This is Us. When mercy and grace snuggle up close, working it behind the scenes. Knitting something exquisite, chipping off the frosty edges, dusting off the the dark and neglected soul holes, filling the heart to bursting with radiant light.

And with each daring, right bold act of letting go, we follow the trees into that triumphant victory of shedding the old, embracing divine transformation, telling ourselves over and over, this is seriously not scary at all. This is Us, as we patiently strain toward the light, sip our coffee, and wait in joyful anticipation for the leaves tell us their ethereal story.

The Path Of Hope

I bring my cloth outside, wipe off the glass side table, the tiny ash particulates collecting like obedient school children lining up for dismissal at the end of the day. There is always a straggler or two to catch up. I take another swipe and move on to the next table, the deck chairs, the patio table. Finally, I unwind the garden hose and spray off the deck, grime pools into puddles, I spray again. A song trails through my head as I rinse off a few shrubs, flecks of ash dusting the verdant green leaves.

The song drifts through my mind, and I breathe in the breathable air, follow the lyrics leading me down the path of hope.

Let the ruins come to life 

In the beauty of Your name

Rising up from the ashes

God forever You reign

I think of tireless firefighters right here in Oregon, this new hurricane threatening historic damage, earthquakes and the prayers, they wing up to heaven for loved ones in Florida and oh, Houston, their tears are still damp.

The winds might shift tomorrow, threatening the September crisp air, spread the fire all over again.  The ash may sift down from the east, Irma could wield all her power across Florida, leaving a catastrophic blow in her wake.

But in church today, my daughter and I hear it right clear. The pastor, he spoke the words aloud and we both scramble for a pen, ink it in paper, emblazon this message across our quaking hearts. She takes a quick peek at my own note. Just checking she got it down right. I hear her breathe it in, this everlasting Hope. I carefully tuck the sheet of paper inside my purse and I discover His heartbeat all over again. A steady rhythm of Grace, an unstoppable love that whispers your name in the middle of the blazing fire, the belly of the howling storm, gently takes your hand, steadies your wobbly legs. And leads you all the way down the center of that life-pumping path of Hope. Never, ever, leaving a straggler behind.

When you pass the waters,

I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not sweep over you.

When you walk through the fire,

you will not be burned;

the flames will not set you ablaze.

Isaiah 43:2