I tried doing too much this morning, time got away from me, but I determined to take a walk at the Arboretum. I ended up going late afternoon, and had a beautiful walk through the woods with my camera.
I thought of the path the Lord has us on, this lonely, hard path that--to me--is a road to recovery: recovery from three very hard years in our journey, recovery from the continuous valleys we found ourselves in, recovery in our finances, and recovery to a new life of travel, of holding down the fort, of a four-days-a-week job for me, of adult men in my home.
I'm still trying to figure out this new life, how to juggle life with four men in my home, but they're still sons, and how do we work out meals, laundry, chores... It's confusing for me, since I was a stay-at-home mom for so long, and now they're grown but still home, and I'm gone much of the time.
This afternoon, however, is a time for just me and my camera, and the beautiful woods that is The Morton Arboretum.
A tree had fallen across the path. It was easy enough to climb around, but it reminded me to stay on the path, reminded me of #three words--whatever it takes--to make this new life work. Fernando and I have a long road in front of us, to dig ourselves out of this valley (financially, anyway) we've ended up in.
But, the sun is shining, and our path seems lit with His peace. We'll keep walking this path until He shows otherwise. We'll keep hoping for permanency with this company, as we work hard and spend little time together. We know there's peace as we both work toward the same goal, for His glory.
I reached my favorite spot, the place past the spruce plot where the tree trunks have fallen along the path. I stopped, just breathing, taking in the scene, knowing that in a few days, or a few weeks, this place will be awash in yellow. It will be a brief, glorious time, and then it will be gone. I'm determined to see it.
Back in my car, I drove toward the exit, but just had to stop since the sun was turning this tree on yellow fire. I had to take in this moment, knowing it would be gone the next time I visited.
I love the brief brilliance that is autumn, the bright bursts of color, as if the Lord is telling me--store this up, this beauty, because you have a bleak winter ahead, and you must remember my glory through it.
Storing it up...
Back to life,
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