In November...
In November
when the wind is red,
and the leaves are cold,
I feel old.
I jotted those lines down today, stopped at an intersection in town. I have felt that feeling before, but this is the first November that I've been able to put a name to it. The name is, simply, old. I feel aged in November, as if, really, underneath this quarter century of experience there should really be three quarters. Because I know what's coming. I know that this turning of seasons in the natural is also a spiritual metaphor. We are all turning. Aging. Changing. Shifting.
But the oldness makes me feel happier, somehow. Not in some morbid way, but it makes me feel nearer to that which my spirit-man longs for. Even as I rejoice in the coming spring of my baby's birth, I can't help but ache just a bit for my final autumn. I feel old, in that I have begun to welcome the changing seasons. I am not quite sure when it happened but, somewhere along the way, I have begun to lose a once-deep fear of the passing of time...
I think often lately of my great-grandmother, Ola V. No middle name, just the single letter, "v". She is 90 years old now, dealing with Dementia, living in a nursing home. She carried, birthed, and raised seven wonderful children, one boy and six girls, all of them still thriving and loving life. Every one of them loves to laugh, loves to sing, loves Jesus. And even now, at 90, the nurses in the nursing home say, "If I am having a bad day, I just go see Mrs Ola V! She will make me feel better. She's always happy, smiling, laughing..." Her joy is contagious, and I think it's because she knows. Even when she doesn't know my name or what day of the week it is, she still knows exactly where she's going, and she is welcoming every single step of her journey. I am thankful her DNA flows through my veins...maybe, somehow, it will help me to live like that.
I want to live this way - with an eternal perspective - every day of my life. Even on the hard-as-a-brick days. When my schedule's overbooked, or the meeting goes long, or I forget a deadline... When I feel squeezed for time, squeezed for money, squeezed for sanity... When traffic is crazy and I can't think of a single nice thing to say about any other breathing thing... When the laundry's piled up, when dinner is late, when the baby won't sleep for days on end... oh, God, let me see it Your way, with aged yet ageless eyes. These seasons are ugly, and wonderful, and full, and overwhelming, and beautiful, yes, but they're only a breath. I may have seventy more Novembers, but even those will feel so short. May I live so that when my last November comes, I will not mourn it. I want to smile. And laugh. And sing. And love Jesus. I hope I will rejoice in feeling the oldest I've ever felt. And I hope my spirit with say, in the words of Aslan: “The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”
-HK
when the wind is red,
and the leaves are cold,
I feel old.
I jotted those lines down today, stopped at an intersection in town. I have felt that feeling before, but this is the first November that I've been able to put a name to it. The name is, simply, old. I feel aged in November, as if, really, underneath this quarter century of experience there should really be three quarters. Because I know what's coming. I know that this turning of seasons in the natural is also a spiritual metaphor. We are all turning. Aging. Changing. Shifting.
But the oldness makes me feel happier, somehow. Not in some morbid way, but it makes me feel nearer to that which my spirit-man longs for. Even as I rejoice in the coming spring of my baby's birth, I can't help but ache just a bit for my final autumn. I feel old, in that I have begun to welcome the changing seasons. I am not quite sure when it happened but, somewhere along the way, I have begun to lose a once-deep fear of the passing of time...
I think often lately of my great-grandmother, Ola V. No middle name, just the single letter, "v". She is 90 years old now, dealing with Dementia, living in a nursing home. She carried, birthed, and raised seven wonderful children, one boy and six girls, all of them still thriving and loving life. Every one of them loves to laugh, loves to sing, loves Jesus. And even now, at 90, the nurses in the nursing home say, "If I am having a bad day, I just go see Mrs Ola V! She will make me feel better. She's always happy, smiling, laughing..." Her joy is contagious, and I think it's because she knows. Even when she doesn't know my name or what day of the week it is, she still knows exactly where she's going, and she is welcoming every single step of her journey. I am thankful her DNA flows through my veins...maybe, somehow, it will help me to live like that.
I want to live this way - with an eternal perspective - every day of my life. Even on the hard-as-a-brick days. When my schedule's overbooked, or the meeting goes long, or I forget a deadline... When I feel squeezed for time, squeezed for money, squeezed for sanity... When traffic is crazy and I can't think of a single nice thing to say about any other breathing thing... When the laundry's piled up, when dinner is late, when the baby won't sleep for days on end... oh, God, let me see it Your way, with aged yet ageless eyes. These seasons are ugly, and wonderful, and full, and overwhelming, and beautiful, yes, but they're only a breath. I may have seventy more Novembers, but even those will feel so short. May I live so that when my last November comes, I will not mourn it. I want to smile. And laugh. And sing. And love Jesus. I hope I will rejoice in feeling the oldest I've ever felt. And I hope my spirit with say, in the words of Aslan: “The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”
-HK
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