The air has a bit of a chill in it, the first leaves have started to change on our trees, sprinkling the yard with crimson, gold, and amber. Summer has past, and fall is upon us.
Libby needs new jeans and new boots, because her legs are gloriously long and she’s outgrown nearly everything from last season. Apples, and pumpkins and cinnamon spice candles have made their way into my kitchen and the sun no longer wakes me each morning as the days are getting shorter. It’s happening. Change.
There is richness and glory that comes with the vibrancy of color in the changing leaves and the crisp air that greets me as I let the dog out each morning. Beauty tied to the gentle dying that comes as the frigid cold begins to slowly set in a bit more each day. If you choose to be fully present you can feel the chill right alongside all the warm, iridescent auburn, cinnamon laced goodness of the season.
Fall is a slow and beautiful death.
I’ve lived through enough change, seasons ending, to recognize the signs. Just as there is always the first crimson leaf to fall to the ground beneath the big maple tree in our yard there is the first conversation or meeting that falls into my heart, landing in a space that calls me to sit with it and notice, to be present as it says, “Tracy, things are about to change, this is coming to a close….death is near.”
Fall came a bit early for my heart this year, that first conversation was months ago actually, as I sat looking at the financials for the non-profit I currently oversee. The pattern of decline, 8 years old, that I have been fighting, hoping we could reverse, was in fact continuing and there was no avoiding it for me.
Last week the board of directors and I sent a letter out to our constituency notifying them of the reality of where things stand. In December I will be stepping off the staff along with others, in hopes that they can keep the ship afloat while they re-group and address the issues, beyond just money, that have contributed to where things are today.
As I wandered the streets of Chicago last weekend with Katy and a couple of friends I could feel the invitation to be present, I could feel it because there was also the option of shutting down in order to numb the pain. The weekend was vibrant with goodness, a bold choice to do something epic for Katy and the chance to be with her in it for the rest of us. Shopping in stores we often frequented while Allison was a student at Moody poked at my heart saying, “These days are fleeting, you may not have the chance to do this again, Allison isn’t here and those days are gone, these may be gone soon too.”
Moments pass, so quickly, and you can’t re-live them or get them back. There are no second chances, there is only the choice to be fully present or largely absent to all that is available for my heart to feel as the season changes.
The chill of death running alongside the reality of the presence of joy and life. Stay and feel it or shut down and numb it.
Yesterday I made apple dumplings, because it’s what we do in September, since moving to Michigan. As I rolled out the dough I let myself feel and remember, the first time we picked apples six years ago, the first dumplings I had sitting at a friend’s table, today we no longer have a friendship. Next I made spaghetti sauce, the way I learned in Italy when we traveled with a group of friends from here to celebrate their anniversary. It was all there, the goodness, the vibrancy, and the chill of death. Last night I felt exhausted, wrung out from the inside. I went to bed and slept hard.
This morning I dropped the girls at school and chose to hit “play” on my music instead of making a work call. It was a choice to breathe and take in the music and the scenery while driving through the country fields on my way to work. Sarah Groves sang a song, which I hadn’t heard before; I cried all the way to work. The sense that Jesus is with me as the crimson and auburn leaves are falling and death is gently in the air pierced my heart releasing tears that needed to be cried.
Fall is here, there are no second chances at being present; it is proving to be a slow and beautiful death, and I don’t want to miss any of it.
Tracy Johnson is a lover of stories and a reluctant dreamer, living by faith that “Hope deferred makes the heart-sick but when dreams come true there is a life and joy” (Pro. 13:12). She is the Founder of Red Tent Living. Married for 29 years, she is mother to five kids. After a half century of life, she’s feeling like she may know who she is.
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“There are no second chances, there is only the choice to be fully present or largely absent to all that is available for my heart to feel as the season changes.” Oh, Tracy, thank you for naming this among so many other things. Sara has met me with her music, too, in fact, on the way home from Seattle a similar thing happened with different songs. “The Long Defeat.” And “Love is Still a Worthy Cause.” She has a gift. And so do you. Thank you for bringing yourself and showing up. Thank you for the ever needed reminder to stay with myself when I want to run far away. Just thank you.
There is something about music and how is speaks to our souls that is so undoing. Thanks for sharing this space with me and naming how it is looking in your own journey. Grateful for your companionship Julie.
Dear Tracy, I loved this entry. Oh, this is so true and also resonates sorrow that is always present: “Moments pass, so quickly, and you can’t re-live them or get them back. There are no second chances, there is only the choice to be fully present or largely absent to all that is available for my heart to feel as the season changes.” It costs me to know this an, also, to hope for goodness which is ahead. The tendency to fear and dread what is ahead and what will never be again is intense. Blessings to all that is ahead. May there be great goodness and provision.
Becky, you are right about the fear being intense, and that is not at all where I want to be stuck. The hope and the presence it requires to hold it are costly and it feels good to have that named too. Thank you for the blessing.
Yep…I’m feeling the death…no going back. It is here, like it or not. Staying present in what is dying off feels monumental today. Don’t want to miss what is in front of me…life is found there. 💗MJ
I know you are feeling it too, in your own ways my friend. I remain so thankful for your faithful presence in it all with me.
You’ve been talking around losses in your last few posts. You are crazy-brave to accept your own invitation to stay even as you name it’s enormity. My heart feels sad. I will pray that you feel deeply held.
Timari, I love the thought of being crazy brave! Thank you for that today and for your prayers.
This is so great because I listened to Sara Groves on my way to work this morning. I listened to her on my drive back to the hospital the day of Lu’s accident. She’s so soulful. I’m sad to hear about the places you are experiencing loss and death, and also excited for the newness that a new season brings. xo
Soulful, such a good word to describe her and where she invites me with her music. It is so curious to hear where she is present for several of us in these difficult spaces. Thanks for excitement for me in what will come in the next season.
I have no words. Only blessings. gratefulness. Hope for resurrection.
It is good for me to picture your kind face and soulful eyes, no need for words. Thanks for the blessings and hope and the gratitude Linsey.
I do not easily acknowledge the beauty in death…yet it is there. I am finding it hurts less to enter into this beauty than to resist it. I do believe…Lord help my unbelief. Thank you for sharing your raw heart! Blessings tenfold to you.
Fern…I believe you are so right that it hurts less to enter the beauty than to resist it. Love the way you put that. Thank you for sharing your words.
The invitation to be present and the option of shutting it down. Yes! I feel this tension. It’s hard to hold, to stay present; in the midst of a death of dreams. And to hold the not knowing, no idea of what’s on the other side. My words echo for you, and for me. Thank you.
P.S. I do love those gloriously long legs your mom gave her.
Then it knowing is so hard. And, the death of dreams, yes…that too. As usual you have seen and heard me well my friend. Thank you.
This song is an anthem for me. I have loved it for a while now. Your post, your words, so very beautiful and real. Oh death…to feel it all. Love you friend.
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Dear Tracy…I anticipate with joy the goodness and life that will continue to be birthed as the changes of death and life take place. It is so hard to imagine what will come of an ending that feels so raw. I pray for memories of foreign women who told stories for the first time and were heard, for lives that continue to blossom from your dreaming, creating, teaching, training, listening, and responding. So much goodness that can only grow, even if not in the same form as was originally known. May this end be better than its beginning (Ecc 7:8). Love to you, Christine
Thank you Christine, I too hope for a better ending. ❤️