Still, The Winds Came In

While we were in Africa, the leaves changed. The end of October, here in Tennessee, is when the trees set fire to themselves in a colorful display of beauty and death. Even in the dark, on the drive home from the airport that night, I couldn't get over how much color there was. The next morning as I drove to work for the first time in two weeks, I swear I saw colors I have never seen before - the sun was so bright that day, the leaves so brilliant. It felt right - like I had left and come back after what felt like a month and so much was different. I recognized the change they had undergone, because it felt much the same as what had been lifted in my own heart after two weeks in Dar Es Salaam. It felt okay to be different, to feel out of place, because I sensed that change had happened everywhere.

And then November slowly crept in and with a few grey days of rain and wind, most trees have been stripped of those beautiful gems. They've littered the parking lots and alleyways of neighborhoods and apartment complexes, they've been blown off to the sides of roads and raked into piles. I've noticed that no one looks at leaves when they fall to the ground, because after they've lost their "crunch," they're just the same as the grass, concrete, dirt, or gravel we walk on everyday.

It reminds me of a Christmas gift I made for a friend once in high school; after realizing I hadn't much money to buy gifts that year, I got especially crafty and rather sincere. For this particular friend, I wrote a poem about her beauty, went outside on a fall day and collected leaves off the ground the color of red that so reminded me of her, and matted the poem with leaves inside the frame. I waited a week or two to give it to her, and by that time, the leaves, still beautiful and red, were no longer "just-fallen" and apparently lacked the luster I was going for when she kind of laughed and said something to the extent of "thanks for the dead leaves."

It didn't hurt my feelings quite as much as you'd think, and as fall comes and goes each year, I understand more and more why seasons take place. I must admit, though, this year I feel it even more - and it hurts. I see the trees baring themselves and the leaves being lost to the wind, and I can't help but feel the loss. I miss Africa, but even more than that, I miss life in Africa. I can't tell you how hard it is some days to wake up and feel like I have to continue on with life here the way I did before I left. That's just not possible, not even after two weeks. I hate to sound dramatic, but it's true - especially if you remain conscious of the fact that remedying life here with life experienced elsewhere is difficult. I see people forget and I wonder how that happens - how can you go anywhere and not be a different person?

When the winds came in, the color and life of that journey, left only in pictures and memories, seemed not nearly so bright and easily trampled on by the rabbit-pace and misplaced cares of my society and the old me. I am clinging to what I have left with everything left in me, and that seems kind of paradoxical, doesn't it? It makes me wonder who is holding on - is it the trees or the leaves? I'm starting to believe it is both. And that's where I find myself. I have so many stories left to tell, and I am afraid of telling them because once it's done - once that's gone - what will I have left? Oh, silly me.

I cannot complain; I would rather feel the pain of growth along with the sheer joy and excitement of it all. Knowing that what I had experienced was shallow and "life-changing" enough to make adjusting easier wouldn't make me feel very good. The Lord gave me a gentle reminder last week that the change isn't just in going, it's in coming back, too - I find a lot of hope in the moments that I actually remember that truth. That I remember that the Lord is as near as He was the night I stood in front of a room full of strangers and yet, dear friends, and gave a message I never felt qualified to give that took twice-as long as I had planned (that was a good thing), half of which I didn't even prepare for - and it worked. He worked.

The peace in the rest and the excitement in the adventure is not always where you are, but how you see where you are. I believe I might start asking God to change my perspective, not just spurring me on to good and new things by looking at the past, but by continuing to settle for today. This... this is today. The people, the places, the lessons to be learned. And so I cling to Him who upholds me with His right hand, because in Him is all the change I have experienced, am experiencing, and will continue to experience (Psalm 63:8).


Oh Lord, hear my prayer, listen to my cry for mercy;
in your faithfulness and righteousness come to my relief.
Do not bring your servant into judgment,
for no one living is righteous before you.
The enemy pursues me, he crushes me to the ground;
he makes me dwell in darkness like those long dead.
So my spirit grows faint within me;
my heart within me is dismayed.
I remember the days of long ago;
I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done.
I spread out my hands to you;
my soul thirsts for you like a parched land. Selah.
Answer me quickly, oh Lord; my spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me or I will be like those who go down to the pit.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.
Rescue me from my enemies, oh Lord, for I hide myself in you.
Teach me to do your will, for you are my God;
may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.
For your name's sake, oh Lord, preserve my life;
in your righteousness, bring me out of trouble.
In your unfailing love, silence my enemies;
destroy all my foes, for I am your servant.
Psalm 143