There's Wordless Wednesday, Fragmented Friday, Clueless Tuesday (okay, I made that one up) and now I am going to try Serious Sunday. Because it's just hard to be funny every day. (Some of you would say I have trouble being funny any day. Thank goodness you all keep your opinions to yourselves.)
SIMPATICO
The smell of summer dying is my favorite part of autumn. The note of wistful melancholy that moves in the air, hand in hand with the heat rising from the earth to meet the cooler snap of fall, is the scent of my own feelings. It is the smell of parting from a time of fun and sunshine, plenty and easy living. The new season ahead is just as ripe with wonders yet I can’t help but mourn the sunset of the old.
One fall evening as my father and I stood at an upstairs window of my childhood home, I felt that uncanny stab of sorrow that often comes with the autumn air.
“Why do I feel so sad?” I asked aloud.
“Because you miss your home.”
“But I am home!”
“Not this home,” he said without turning to look at me. “Your heavenly home.”
I thought about that for a moment and decided it was true. The real revelation was that he felt the same as I and had thought about it longer than I and had an answer that was far better than one I could ever have imagined. At that moment I was fiercely glad that “home” was and will always be where he is as well as the place where my Heavenly Father dwells. His is the home of my soul.
The scent of autumn is that of something dying while the new and fresh looms large on the horizon to take its place. Perhaps it does remind us of a sacred time of parting, one which we don’t quite remember but one which we can never forget.
One fall evening as my father and I stood at an upstairs window of my childhood home, I felt that uncanny stab of sorrow that often comes with the autumn air.
“Why do I feel so sad?” I asked aloud.
“Because you miss your home.”
“But I am home!”
“Not this home,” he said without turning to look at me. “Your heavenly home.”
I thought about that for a moment and decided it was true. The real revelation was that he felt the same as I and had thought about it longer than I and had an answer that was far better than one I could ever have imagined. At that moment I was fiercely glad that “home” was and will always be where he is as well as the place where my Heavenly Father dwells. His is the home of my soul.
The scent of autumn is that of something dying while the new and fresh looms large on the horizon to take its place. Perhaps it does remind us of a sacred time of parting, one which we don’t quite remember but one which we can never forget.
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on Sunday, October 5, 2008
at Sunday, October 05, 2008
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Simpatico Serious Sunday #1
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