Letter to God in the Fall

My sweet Lord,

It is turning to autumn, and I feel your presence again in a different way: a tender, private manner. It is quieter out there. We are back to fall schedules. The children are back in school. Our neighbors are snuggled inside their houses, no longer on the stoops of their porches or on walks. It is as if our bodies and spirits are telling us to hibernate.

We see it in the trees as they shed their summer glory for something new. These new colors with their cozy palette are also welcome. It is different but just as glorious, just as the season into which you are ushering us. It’s a quieter season, one of more inward contemplation.

I’m drinking more tea again. I relish the ritual of filling up the kettle and preparing my cup while I wait for the water to boil. I would never think of using the microwave, because it would rush the process. I don’t want to rush anything right now.

I sit with my tea, a blanket, and my Bible. The rain splatters against my window, and I pray, Where are you today? And it is as if the steam from my tea envelops me with your love, replying, Right here. I am right here.

I’m reading the Book of Job right now. Towards the end, after Job’s friends have tried to comfort him, you show up on the scene. There is the famous line, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” (Job 38:4) and then you reveal to Job many of the details of the world you see and have your hand on: “when the mountain goats give birth? / Do you observe the calving of the deer?” (39:1) “The ostrich’s wings flap wildly, / though its pinions lack plumage.” (39:13)

This takes my breath away. You have your hand on all these things, so, of course, you have your hand on the tender thoughts of my heart: the safety of my children, the house repairs, and my parish community.

And as Job I answer that I am small. But that you still would care for me and the details of my life leaves me in awe.

I sit in your wonder and glory, no longer thinking of my little worries. I simply sit in awe, for I know I am in the palm of your hand.

Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.