On a fall morning, the relief of a the first cold air hits my lungs and heart. And even in that cold the world is warm with the filtered moon and sun light through red and yellow and orange leaves. Ages ago someone planted a strong and beautiful red oak tree in the corner of our yard. It blazes yellow and then fiery orange, greeting me first thing in the morning. On a fall morning, the air is sweet and sharp with the smells of fires in the hearth and smoldering leaf piles. I welcome those old friends in, a smile creeping across my heart. On a fall morning, I feel how much God loves beauty and I’m ever so grateful for it.
Every day, He wakes up the world. He makes it live and move and have its being and the corners of my unbelief long for the salve of being close to Him in His beautiful work. So I rise early. I draw close. I walk outside to witness God being so very active and present. Every day, He joyfully contradicts what this world will say about Him. It isn’t in a booming voice or quaking earth. Instead, it is in the quiet, gentle, beautiful work of moving His world and my life forward with dewy grass and birdsong and sunrise. His touch is in the rustling of a soft breeze through technicolored, dry leaves.
It’s His morning song and I pray that you will embrace it this weekend.