The Change.

No, I'm not going through menopause, but I do appreciate the concern. Perhaps I should have given more thought to the title of this post.

Let's see...housekeeping first:

- No need to follow me on Twitter. Turns out I forget to tweet. And I still don't get it.


Ok, now that that's out of the way, back to change.

There was once a time in my life (we'll call it kindergarten through college)when I couldn't stand the coming of the fall. Winter was tolerable in its arrival, because where I live in the PNW, once the leaves are off the trees, there really isn't a remarkable difference between autumn and winter, except that winter suffers from (aside from Christmas) a depressing lack of fun holidays. So, the two sort of blend into each other, lasting for about six or seven months. Then "spring" arrives, with its torrential downpours and near-constant sogginess, but with a few teasers of the bright, bright, sun-shiny days to come. And summer, of course, has always been welcome around here, once it finally makes an appearance.

But I really hated the fall. As a kid, it signified the halting of staying up late, going to camp, playing outside, talking on the phone for hours each night on my long-neglected backyard swingset (and what could we have POSSIBLY needed to discuss? What did eleven-year-old girls have to say that could occupy entire evenings?) and smelling faintly of sunscreen, seemingly all the time. As a teenager, it meant roughly the same, but without the camp and factoring in the drudgery promised us by another year of high school. One particular year before starting college, fall meant blessed separation from the boy who'd already broken my heart. My summer romance hadn't quite lasted to Labor Day, but watching the seasons change on the University of Washington campus for the first time, I was forced to admit that it was over. To this woman, it was God keeping me safe/sane. To that girl, though, it was torture.

In recent years, though, things have changed a bit. I worked a job that kept me insanely busy and stressed all summer long, so the season changing became somewhat of a relief. I learned to recognize how stunning a crisp, sunny morning can be, with red and orange leaves everywhere. I'm learning to appreciate throwing on my college sweatshirt, and then my Seahawks t-shirt, and camping out on the couch, convinced that if I scream loud enough at the television, my team won't blow it this week. Fall brings Halloween, and carving pumpkins. Also worth mentioning, insisting that my boyfriend and I go to a pumpkin patch to procure said pumpkins. Thanksgiving, boots, and scarves also get major credit this time of year.

It's possible that this insight has come with age (or, more likely, therapy) but maybe all along the changing season hasn't been to blame, but my own unwillingness to accept the changes in my life that always seem to come with it. I try not to make it a secret on this blog that I am a Christian. A bumbling, constantly failing one, but a Christian nonetheless. I am constantly humbled by God's way of ever so gently reminding me, when I start to judge others, that I am still a complete and utter disaster. But He looks at me still, with eyes that see what can be, and says "I can work with that."

And He is, right now. I'm finding it inspiring and sweet that change in the season is once again bringing change--but this change isn't so much in my life as it is in ME. I have a lot of work to do before I "get there", it's going to take time and patience, only one of which I have in any great quantity.

But I'll get there. In boots and a scarf. And possibly holding a Pumpkin Spice Latte.

Happy Fall, Everyone!