For the last ten days, I’ve been posting signs of Autumn over there on Facebook. I’ve searched for the beauty and even the “not so beautiful” things that remind me that summer is waning, and my favorite season has truly begun.
Today was one of those perfect autumn days. The weather was gorgeous. The day was sweet. Certain Man was home today because the big old lard buckets that are our chickens are going out. How glad we both are for a bit of a break. It looks like this layover is going to be a “nice” one. The company is saying that it will be two weeks, but encompassing three weekends. Today starts our church retreat at Denton, Maryland, and even though we don’t stay over at night because of our ladies, it is nice to not have to worry about chicken house alarms and fans and feeders and lights and ventilation and floods.
The day went well. I had a big cheesy noodle bake to make for lunch on Sunday at retreat. That came together well, and it was with a great deal of satisfaction that I got it into the fridge this afternoon all ready for the oven. I checked the list of other things that I was to take and sighed with relief to realize that everything else was already there, sent with friend Ruby on Wednesday.
So many happy things to enjoy. The blue jays are busy, the flowers still blooming, the air is cool and there are apples on the counter, crisp and sweet. The crickets chirping don’t even much annoy me unless I am trying to sleep.
So. Why the besetting sorrow?
Because six hundred miles away a story is being written of love and faithfulness and faith and an insidious disease and we don’t know how it will turn out. My brave sister in law says she knows how it will be. OKAY. Because she knows Whom she has believed. She trust her Heavenly Father to do what is best. She is unafraid. My Oldest Brother is pensive, even while he holds fast to the promises that remind us of a God who is THERE and who is neither surprised or stymied by the events of these last two years. My heart aches for him and their children and grandchildren and in-laws.
I sometimes think that Clinton has loved Frieda since the day he laid eyes on her. That would have been back in about 1963. They’ve loved each other a very long time. That love and the faith that has marked their lives with adventure and grace and glory holds them steady in these uncertain days. They cling to a God who has proven that He is to be trusted. And we pray. And pray. And pray.
But on this glorious autumn day, the tears want to spill. There is so much to ponder. The sorrow is besetting.
“Oh, Lord Jesus. There are no words to say what is in our hearts . . .”