The winds are rustling the fields and the trees as I walk the winding road. It’s fall. I see golden colors emerging, a few leaves on the ground. And despite the beauty in this season, my heart feels heavy.
Memories and questions flutter as the wind blows through my soul, disrupting all that was packed away and put on the shelves.
But healing and growth and goodness have come from grief, so why do these feelings emerge? Why does the coming of fall scatter the broken memories as it scatters the falling leaves? These broken memories that refuse to piece together to give a reason, an explanation, an answer.
I breathe in deeply the crisp air and it reaches my lungs but not my heart.
What do I do with all this?
I kneel beside the pieces, unsure if I am to toss them into the fall winds or try to put them back together. Sometimes neither one seems possible.
So I gather them into my arms and carry them to the altar. I silently give them to the One who knows all things, Who sees the beginning and the end. I ask Him to use them however He wills.
And I keep walking.