Swallows sweep past the window, darting here and there,
chattering to one another. Other small birds – probably the ones who may
over-winter here – hop down from the branches of the towering larch tree,
pecking the ground beneath. A pigeon emerges from the foliage of the gooseberry
bush. Beyond the near space, crows caw and land on the rolls of hay dotting the
golden field.
Autumn is upon us. I feel the stirrings of my annual urge to
store up for winter, like a squirrel, pine cones and twigs for starting those
fires that are already needed. In life, too, I am prepping for whatever is to
come. Trying to find order in the picture folders on my computer, printing some
out so that in the event of a laptop meltdown I don’t lose my memories. Gearing
up for another round of the endless de-cluttering. Where does all this stuff
come from?! I’m not necessarily sensing imminent winter, but the signs are
there, and I know it is coming.
Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever, and he is
the one thing that doesn’t change. I don’t have to moan, like the children do
in Narnia tales, that it is always winter but never Christmas. When winter
finally does come, I expect my spiritual ears to pick up the heavenly anthems
and to be ready to shout out ‘Hark! The herald angels sing! Glory!!’
