By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
“Fuel up,” “pack up,” “load up.” These were oft-repeated phrases when our family rodeoed. With “up” attached to so many words, we must have lived a glass-is-half-full kind of life. Either that, or we had a roundup mentality.
When Mike said, “Load up,” our children and all the dogs knew what he meant, and it had nothing to do with piling one’s plate at the buffet line.
This particular command came drifting across the years to me recently, opening memory’s gate to our diesel-driven days. Now, only one of the family continues to rodeo, and the remaining dog is so old he couldn’t jump into the bed of the truck even if he heard the order. Which he can’t.
I’m not sure he can see the truck.
The season of our life has changed as clearly as the leaves around our home.
Autumn’s oranges and yellows have been there all along. We just don’t see them until chlorophyll-producing photosynthesis slows and the green fades.
The transition is closer to “letting go” than changing, and somehow that makes the idea easier to accept. After all, didn’t someone once say, “The only people who like change are wet babies”?
Someone else said, “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven” (Eccl. 3:1 NKJV). However, it’s often just as hard to let go as it is to change, especially when we must let go of loved ones, our youth, favorite pets, careers, homes, relationships.
God’s grace for the task is there for the taking if we’ll simply ask and await His answer. Of course asking is easier than waiting, right? Waiting takes time.
Our pastor encouraged us with his message last week and drew our laughter when he quipped, “Give God a minute, will ya?”
But we don’t. We’re in too big of a hurry. Why is that? Are we afraid we’ll miss something?
I’m afraid I’ll miss something if I don’t take time to watch those leaves slip from verdant green to glorious gold. Or take a moment to breathe in the crisp, clean air of autumn, and give God a minute to touch my heart.
Lord, help me slow my internal clock to Your eternal tempo. Help me fuel up on You.
~We’re in too big of a hurry. Click To Tweet
Etta grieved the passing of Bern’s Indian summer. It fled like a lamb before wolfish storms. The cottonwood tree dropped its leaves, gold coins carpeting the ground, and a hard frost quickly ended the garden.
She had collected several yellow leaves and pressed them between the pages of her Bible as keepsakes from her time in Lockton. A precious reminder of the afternoon she’d spent alone with Bern. Full of surprises he’d been, first with his invitation and then his open-hearted sharing, and she still ached at the story of his uncle and father. In his own way, he embodied what they each stood for. No wonder he’d agreed to serve Lockton in both professions, though she sensed it was taking a toll on him.
She sensed something else as well, yet she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Every now and then she caught him watching her, his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to speak. Then he’d clamp his jaw and turn away. ~Mail-order Misfire
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