Ink

Here.

One could say that it is now truly fall here—if fall is measured mainly by the true changing and falling of the leaves. Every morning and evening I walk the walk to the subway stop and on my way home down the tree-lined pedestrian walkway, looking for the degree of change that might have occurred from the day before. I haven’t had an east coast fall before; I haven’t known what to expect. I have been hoping that it would be beautiful what with the variety and sheer number of trees here. It started off in early October with one tree species turning a beautiful golden yellow. But, that was the only one. The rest hung onto their green, and even some seemed to just to be turning brown and dying immediately. In talking with others, it was tempting to write off this fall as a fluke one and just await next year’s. Yet, I still had hope. There were still trees with green leaves, and there was still time for them to change.

There was one morning last week when it was foggy, unexpected. The crispness seemed to bring another level of seeing to my eyes and heart and help me to recognize, “yes, this is what I wait for, and it is good to wait.” The softness of light helped me see the edges of leaves from green to red, yellow to orange—change. The next morning, the sun blazed once again, and I sighed and knew, “Yes. Fall is truly here.”

And the trees my eyes behold now…a true rainbow of colors in the most beautiful ways. They are red at the top, fade to orange to yellow, and preserve their green at the bottom. Pure brilliance of color. Pure vibrancy and boldness. They stand out in the midst of their other leafy companions because they did not rush their time and wither away too quickly—they awaited the proper time to flourish in color and surrender.

The sunlight is now much shorter. I have the brilliant morning sun on my walk to work, but now it is dark when I walk home. It makes those moments in the morning all that much more precious, for it is then that I must drink in the sights around me in the true light the sun brings. Every morning, during those 10 minutes, I cannot help but well up with thankfulness of the Lord’s provision…

John and I are moving in two weeks. We knew we would be, but to where? Where in Brooklyn would we end up, and begin to truly settle for the first time in our year and a half of married life? Our apartment search was like walking the tree-lined pathways…there were some good options, there were some altogether promising ones that withered away too quickly, and there were others that were deceiving. Nothing really of brilliance. But then, in the middle of the search, we found one in the area we love, at a price we could afford, and it was just posted. Dare we think it might be meant for us? That God, knowing the perfect timing, provided this apartment to shine its pure brilliance, vibrancy and boldness, in the midst of more dull ones? One that matches our passions, our hopes and dreams, of what we wish life here to be like and what we hope to do? But, it wasn’t too good to be true—God lavished the blessing upon us, and we will be moving in there in two weeks. We are humbled. We do not have to await next year’s fall—it is brilliant here and now.

There has been so much overflowing provision…every good and perfect gift from our Father above. It has come in smaller proportions and also bigger waves of change. In every step of faith, He has called, and He has responded to our steps. And more so, He has lavished His love upon us, showing us that He truly knows and holds us firmly. Sometimes He just desires to bless His children. We are greatly humbled.

In this change of moving to Brooklyn, there have been moments that have been foggy, unexpected. God’s embrace brings another level of seeing to my eyes and heart and helps me to recognize, “yes, You are who I wait for, and it is good to wait upon You.” The fervor of His love helps me see the edges of blessing from challenges to provision, waiting and receiving—grace. In this evening, there was a full moon and scattered clouds in the sky. It lights up the leaves in the coolest of colors, unexpectedly, and I sigh and know, “Yes. You are always here.”