Change happens in an instant.
That split second stroke of a pen. A clock's steady tick-tock. The shrill, heart-stopping ring of the phone in the middle of the night. A calendar page flipped. That long-dreaded farewell.
But transitions?
These steady visitors to our lives, so deeply yearned for or completely unbidden, can linger on. And on.
We've all experienced those seasons that range from mildly discombobulating all the way up to the numbing, excruciating grief of a severed relationship, a death, an abandoning. A financial upheaval, a health crisis. A betrayal, a relocation, a denial.
And the endless waiting spaces in the midst of it all that can leave us a little worse for wear.
And then there are the transitions that breathe fresh life, that kick off brand-new routines, that open doors to long dreamed of opportunities that wait around the next corner. These are the graces that let you know that the earth keeps spinning, that life goes on, that all will be well.
We're experiencing it here, now. It starts when we awake. Instead of throwing off the covers, we reach to pull them up closer and linger in the cozy overnight cocoon we've created for ourselves ... even as we vow to dig those gently fraying flannel sheets out of the back of the closet and get them tucked over and on to the awaiting mattress.
We start our days by donning the worn, warm robe and wonderfully fleecy socks instead of a tee-shirt and shorts. And when we stumble to the kitchen, we grab a favorite mug and brew a 'hot cuppa,' rather than reach for a glass to fill with icy cold juice.
As we prepare for the day, we hear the engines of school buses passing by instead of the fan's endless whirring or the air conditioner's incessant hum. We leave the oven door open after pulling the golden blueberry muffins out, just to get a bit more warm air in the room. And when we head out the door, we grab a scarf or a sweatshirt, just in case.
Classes and groups, clubs and meetings start anew. Schedules emerge and seem to take on a life of their own. The calendar fills ... to overflowing if we just can't say 'no, thanks.' And we know, for sure, that the lazy days of summer have become a distant memory.
We dig out the crockpot instead of lighting up the grill. Candlelight emerges once again, starting at suppertime and soothing us with its warm glow and gentle fragrance as the coolness of evening descends and another day comes to a close.
And as we chat back and forth, catching up with the day's details, we realize that our nightcaps have morphed from ice cream sundaes into steaming mugs of hot cocoa with whipped cream on top ... as we hunker under an old quilt or two. For it's way too early in the season to turn the heat on.
I don't know about you, but I've been through lots of transitions that I never want to experience again. But autumn's gentle rhythm, its compelling rhyme, its steadying cadence, its awaiting invitations?
I'm leaning right into it all.
And I'm comforted by this truth. That when {not if} the transitions come that leave me gasping for my next breath, I will be held and comforted and strengthened.
Because He never changes.
And that, my friend, is good enough for me.
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