He fills the longing soul with good things. Ps. 107:9

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“I notice that Autumn is more
the season of the soul than of nature.”
Friedrich Nietzsche


Photo by Cala


I love autumn so much.  When I walk outside and the chilly air hits me, it actually baffles me how much instantly happens inside me.  Melancholy.  Excitement.  Longing.  Comfort. Memories.  Futures.   (It's all pretty confusing, come to think of it. I should stay inside more)   It carries the promise of the Christmas season.  It ushers in coziness.  In our family, that means fires, hot chocolate, cuddles on the couch under blankets.  It means dark mornings and dark evenings.  Which is great on weekends and awful on school days. 

One wonderful thing it does for me is reminds me to make our home a haven.  Reminds me to sit and snuggle and read and taste and smell. 

And as crazy as it is around here in these months, it reminds me to slow. 






Season of the Soul


“I notice that Autumn is more
the season of the soul than of nature.”
Friedrich Nietzsche


Photo by Cala


I love autumn so much.  When I walk outside and the chilly air hits me, it actually baffles me how much instantly happens inside me.  Melancholy.  Excitement.  Longing.  Comfort. Memories.  Futures.   (It's all pretty confusing, come to think of it. I should stay inside more)   It carries the promise of the Christmas season.  It ushers in coziness.  In our family, that means fires, hot chocolate, cuddles on the couch under blankets.  It means dark mornings and dark evenings.  Which is great on weekends and awful on school days. 

One wonderful thing it does for me is reminds me to make our home a haven.  Reminds me to sit and snuggle and read and taste and smell. 

And as crazy as it is around here in these months, it reminds me to slow. 







Photo by Adarsh Kummur


I was looking out my kitchen window at some beautiful autumn leaves and bare branches.  And thinking of what we hear so often about autumn being the season of letting go.  And how beautiful that is, to let go.... blah blah blah.  Letting go of things is painful and hard and most of us don't do it very gracefully, to be honest.  We ugly cry and thrash around a bit first.  And by we I mean me, of course.

Pretty sure the leaves don't choose to let go.  The wind and the rain and the chilly changes knock them around until they just fall.  And die. 

They die.  They lay there and get covered up and turn back into dirt.

But I was actually thinking more about what happens after the letting go. After the beautiful letting go and the ugly dying.  There is barrenness.  Branches and twigs all sharp and gangly and naked against the vivid blue and murky grey autumn skies. 

Next is Winter. 

And frankly, if you live in Indiana, you never know WHAT in the world winter might bring.  It might snow once in October and then not again until February and snow its brains out until Easter!  And I'm not even exaggerating - can I get a witness from the Hoosiers? 

And the whole time, the branches are barren and ugly and worthless.

And I thought about how sometimes I feel like gangly branch - barren and ugly and worthless.  Sometimes there are those seasons, you know?  And you dream of sometime having the new bright green bursts of fruitfulness popping out all over.  But right now you're just....kinda hanging in there and not really accomplishing much?

Sometimes that looks like:
Dishes and laundry and laundry and dishes.
Being displaced.  And not in a fun way.
Having things removed from your life.
Losing relationships.
Losing loved ones.
Losing health.
Death of dreams.
Sense of failure.
Loss of identity.
Feeling stuck.

You can fill in the blanks.

So what in the world are we supposed to do during the harsh loneliness of winter?

1.  Hang in there. 

Be the best naked branch you can be. Do the next thing. Take the next step.  Be present.

2.  Focus inward. 

Winter is a powerful cycle for nature.  It allows new life that simply could not happen without the freeze.  I want to allow these winter times to draw me inward, to the steadfast work of my core.  Looking after things and putting them into place.  Letting quiet set things right.

3.  Rest. 

It gives me great comfort to think of the quiet, frozen winters of life as seasons of rest.  I love harvest in the Midwest.  There is a flurry of activity that is thrilling and exhausting.  (In our churches, homes and the fields around them!)  I really believe that in God's great economy of rest, sometimes he brings seasons into our lives that are meant to be quiet and restful.  But we perceive them as failure or boredom.


Autumn thoughts on winter


Photo by Adarsh Kummur


I was looking out my kitchen window at some beautiful autumn leaves and bare branches.  And thinking of what we hear so often about autumn being the season of letting go.  And how beautiful that is, to let go.... blah blah blah.  Letting go of things is painful and hard and most of us don't do it very gracefully, to be honest.  We ugly cry and thrash around a bit first.  And by we I mean me, of course.

Pretty sure the leaves don't choose to let go.  The wind and the rain and the chilly changes knock them around until they just fall.  And die. 

They die.  They lay there and get covered up and turn back into dirt.

But I was actually thinking more about what happens after the letting go. After the beautiful letting go and the ugly dying.  There is barrenness.  Branches and twigs all sharp and gangly and naked against the vivid blue and murky grey autumn skies. 

Next is Winter. 

And frankly, if you live in Indiana, you never know WHAT in the world winter might bring.  It might snow once in October and then not again until February and snow its brains out until Easter!  And I'm not even exaggerating - can I get a witness from the Hoosiers? 

And the whole time, the branches are barren and ugly and worthless.

And I thought about how sometimes I feel like gangly branch - barren and ugly and worthless.  Sometimes there are those seasons, you know?  And you dream of sometime having the new bright green bursts of fruitfulness popping out all over.  But right now you're just....kinda hanging in there and not really accomplishing much?

Sometimes that looks like:
Dishes and laundry and laundry and dishes.
Being displaced.  And not in a fun way.
Having things removed from your life.
Losing relationships.
Losing loved ones.
Losing health.
Death of dreams.
Sense of failure.
Loss of identity.
Feeling stuck.

You can fill in the blanks.

So what in the world are we supposed to do during the harsh loneliness of winter?

1.  Hang in there. 

Be the best naked branch you can be. Do the next thing. Take the next step.  Be present.

2.  Focus inward. 

Winter is a powerful cycle for nature.  It allows new life that simply could not happen without the freeze.  I want to allow these winter times to draw me inward, to the steadfast work of my core.  Looking after things and putting them into place.  Letting quiet set things right.

3.  Rest. 

It gives me great comfort to think of the quiet, frozen winters of life as seasons of rest.  I love harvest in the Midwest.  There is a flurry of activity that is thrilling and exhausting.  (In our churches, homes and the fields around them!)  I really believe that in God's great economy of rest, sometimes he brings seasons into our lives that are meant to be quiet and restful.  But we perceive them as failure or boredom.




City
by kayla fry

Photo by Molly Porter
She loved the city. She loved the burning in her legs as she rushed down the street. She loved the way her scarf never stayed where she tied it. She loved the buildings leaning in around her. She loved the lights of a million cars zipping past her and a million windows without curtains letting the cold office lights shine out into the even colder darkness. She loved the way each light made a dozen more shadows. She loved the wind that stopped her breath. She loved the screaming, wheezing, shouting, screeching, deafening noise that never stopped, never for a second. She loved the feeling of others’ shoulders pushing and suffocating and moving against her and never stopped, never for a second. She loved the feeling of not being able to speak, to think, to breathe, to do anything other than move and never stop, never for a second. She loved the city, the city that rushed and stayed and leaned and shone and shadowed and stayed and screamed and wheezed and shouted and screeched and deafened and pushed and suffocated and moved and spoke and thought and breathed and moved more, the city that loved, and never stopped, never for a second.
.
.
.
Written at BCWC by Kayla Fry.  10.7.17

City



City
by kayla fry

Photo by Molly Porter
She loved the city. She loved the burning in her legs as she rushed down the street. She loved the way her scarf never stayed where she tied it. She loved the buildings leaning in around her. She loved the lights of a million cars zipping past her and a million windows without curtains letting the cold office lights shine out into the even colder darkness. She loved the way each light made a dozen more shadows. She loved the wind that stopped her breath. She loved the screaming, wheezing, shouting, screeching, deafening noise that never stopped, never for a second. She loved the feeling of others’ shoulders pushing and suffocating and moving against her and never stopped, never for a second. She loved the feeling of not being able to speak, to think, to breathe, to do anything other than move and never stop, never for a second. She loved the city, the city that rushed and stayed and leaned and shone and shadowed and stayed and screamed and wheezed and shouted and screeched and deafened and pushed and suffocated and moved and spoke and thought and breathed and moved more, the city that loved, and never stopped, never for a second.
.
.
.
Written at BCWC by Kayla Fry.  10.7.17

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