I Like Fall

I'm a summertime gal. I love the warmth, the sun, wearing shorts and flipflops, playing on the beach and swimming in the lake. But...I also like Fall, in spite of myself. I try to tell myself that Fall means the cold darkness of winter is right around the corner. That Fall, in all her beauty simply fools us into believing that the warmth and sunshine will last a little longer, hiding the fact of what is to come. Winter...with her bone chilling cold, brown and gray trees, a garden that is desolate, and darkness that sends me into depression, wishing I could hibernate until Spring.

Try as I might to poo-poo Fall, I still find myself reveling in her beauty, her smells, the way the sunlight becomes golden and harsh, and my shadow is long on ground. I still find myself anxiously anticipating soup on the stove and a fire in the fireplace. I still love Fall. I'm a fool for her, even as she laughs at me, beckons me into winter, teasing me with her brilliant colors and warm sun.

A few of my Fall favorites:
Warm sun among cool, crisp breezes
Pumpkins and Mums on the front porch steps
Honeycrisp Apples, and trips to the Apple Farm
Starbucks Gingersnap Latte and Pumpkin Spice Latte
Bonfires...even the neighbors burning leaves all weekend long.
Apple Spice scented candles
Ga. Bulldawg Football
Monday Night Football,
High School Football...heck, just football in general
Seeing the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance, dressed in brilliant colors of crimson, gold, yellow, and green.
Hiking the woods around my house, basking in those colors.
The way the trees are mirrored in our lake, turning the water a kaleidoscope of colors.
Driving into the mountains, looking for the best boiled peanuts and apple cider.

"Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting, and autumn a mosiac of them all." Stanley Horowitz

Feels Like Its Raining All Over the World

We're flooded. I mean, is it time to build an ark or what?? The first day of Fall in Georgia has been marked by a 100 year event of flooding and record breaking rainfall. When the rain started over a week ago, I was so excited, and I was happy all week long as the rain continued to pour...and pour everyday. We've been in such a drought for so long that the rain felt like a real blessing from heaven.

Yesterday, as the rain continued to fall, without relent, my attitude began to change somewhat, into one of worry. I spent the day at home, cooking veggie beef soup, turning on all the lights, lighting candles, and doing housework. Every now and then I would peek out the window, and out the front door, wondering if the rain would ever stop. It rained nonstop from about 7:30 a.m. until late into the evening. My poor dogs were finally forced to go outside, in the pouring rain, simply to relieve themselves. Of course, my old girl, Sophie, was a bit insulted.

Last night, as news spread of the flooding south of us in Atlanta, and the deaths that followed, my worry deepened. I kept a close eye on the creek that runs below our house, thankful for the small bluff my house sits on, and the deep creek bed. Worry also turned to aggravation as we realized our dock at the lake, the one that we've had to move out more and more as the lake fell more and more, was now partially covered with water. Happy to have a full lake, not so much to think about recovering a partially submerged dock.

This morning as I took Youngest Son to school, I was anxious to see how the pond down the road, and the Etowah River that we travel over, had fared in the flooding rains. If it wasn't so dark, and the rain so heavy, I would have taken pictures. The Etowah was over the banks in some areas, and had risen to cover the canoe/kayak dock at the river park. As I crossed the bridge, I took a hard look at the muddy river, as it raged. The water was up way too close to the bridge. The pond down the road had flooded its banks and was up into the backyard of our neighbors who live there. I wondered if she had worried yesterday and last night. If she had peeked out the window like I had, watching the water as it rose.

Most of all this morning, I thought of all the people along the Chatooga River, not too terribly far up the road from us, who had such terrible flooding. I thought about those south of us in Atlanta whose homes were flooded, whose belongings were gone, whose lives were forever changed or lost by the flooding. This is not something we see in Georgia. Not something that happens to us.

So Fall has officially arrived, blowing in with a flood of rain and destruction. I'm not sure whether to pull out my Fall decorations, or build an ark. I know one thing...I need some sunshine. I'm a solar powered girl and I'm running out of energy.

Ohhh...with a little whine thrown in

Remember these?



And how I was bragging that I'd almost eaten them all?

Ummm hmmm, at least a couple a day? Well.... this... led to....

this....

But I still love me some North Georgia apples... just not so many.

September Apples

I had an "alone" day a few days ago, so I went here, to the apple farm The apple farm is located just up the road a bit, into the beautiful mountains of North Georgia. I chose a day when I knew it would be quiet, and uncrowded, just the way I was feeling.




I bought some of these Honeycrisp apples. I've already eaten most of them. If what they say, "An apple a day..." is true, I should be in doubly good shape.

I also bought some of this. Good, homemade apple bread. I didn't need this. No, not at all. But it looked so good, I bought it anyway....I've almost eaten all of it too. Does that cancel out the good that all the apples did for me?

Work

"But as for you, be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded."
2 Chron 15:7

Do you ever wonder sometimes why bother? Maybe you've just cleaned the house, it looks all pretty and shiny, and the dogs come running through with muddy feet, or the kids track in grass and dirt?

Or, maybe you're trying to make a difference in someone's life, lend a helping hand, a listening ear, and it doesn't seem to make that difference?

This verse was in our church bulletin yesterday, and it jumped out at me, grabbing my attention. Maybe it was because I've spent so much time lately trying to figure out the what and the why in the things that I do.

I work for a domestic violence center. Sometimes working with victims and survivors of domestic violence, but mostly working out in the public schools, with children and young people of all ages, speaking in the classrooms about family violence and teen dating violence. I haven't always done this work. Last school year was my first year. I come from a background of business and management and politics. I'd never worked with masses of kids before. Often I felt challenged, disillusioned, and exasperated, especially when working in middle school classrooms. What is it with middle schoolers anyway?? Can they care about anything other than cutting up with friends or texting? I was so thankful when summer arrived and school was out.

As I've faced the arrival of a new school year, with dread I must admit, I've found myself often thinking, "God help me. Why am I doing this? Those kids don't care." In the midst of that dread and questioning, I think God has reminded me of those kids, those few out of thousands, whose faces and body language betrayed their silence, whose story was written in their eyes, as they absorbed and realized I was talking about them, about their families. Or the kids who were desperate enough to write me a secret note, requesting to speak privately with me, and then told me the stories of what they live with, the violence and abuse...those that said "Help me." Or, "Mom won't listen to me. What can I do?" Maybe God is teaching me, that sometimes the work is hard, unpleasant, and often seems useless. Maybe I'll never see the fruits of my labor. Maybe I'll never know the one child that took what he heard that day and tried to make a difference. Or, knowing that I may never know what becomes of the young boy that cried as he poured out his fears to me, the secret he has kept for so long.

Sometimes your work may not be where you envisioned yourself, or be the ideal position that you thought it would be. Maybe sometimes God puts us in places that we'd rather not be, to do something thats not always comfortable, but that has a purpose. Even if we don't always understand what that purpose is or why we have to be the one to do it. But maybe, if the work makes a difference to only one life, only one impact for good, isn't it all worth it?

Grace

But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weakneses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

2 Corin. 12:9

God cannot make His grace any more sufficient than He has made it; get up and believe it, and you will find it true, because the Lord says it in the simplest way : "My grace is (not shall be or may be) sufficient for thee." Never turn God's facts into hopes, or prayers, but simply use them as realities, and you will find them powerful as you believe them. (Written by H.W. Webb Peploe, after asking God to let His grace be sufficient for him)

I don't always understand God's grace. Its beyond my capacity to understand such unconditional love, such faithfulness, such desire for me. All I know is I am so very thankful for it. Let me grasp on the the reality of "where sin increases, His grace abounds all the more." Romans 5:20

Abounds. I love that word in this verse. His grace abounds for me...abundantly. Not just enough, not just what I need, but more, over and above, abundance. Thank you Jesus, for I sure do need the abundance.

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater;

He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;

To added affliction He addeth His mercies,

To multiplied trials His multiplied peace.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,

When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,

When we reach the end of our hoarded resources

Our Father's full giving is only begun.

His love has no limit, His grace has no measure,

His power no boundary known unto men;

For out of His infinite riches in Jesus

He giveth and giveth and giveth again. -Annie Johnson Flint

Abundance! Yes!

St Simons Island

My Granny use to say that St Simons Island was a "dripping place." It dripped with spanish moss, humidity, and the old spirituals sung by the Gullah women on wash day. I think Granny was right. Sometimes I think my blood, my very soul, is mingled in the sand and the plough mud of the island and her marshes. I find myself called back there time and time again, since I was a child. Its been difficult, sometimes heartbreaking to see how the island has changed, from the sleepy mysterious place it was for me as a child, to the development of residential communities and vacation condos for tourism today. Here are some pictures of our trip there a few weeks ago.

Sunset on East Beach

Live Oaks and Spanish Moss at the Indian Burial Ground Christ Church

Black Banks Creek, my favorite crabbing spot

I let this one go.

Pretty Shells

Prettier Babies

My Least One

St Simons Light at Night

Sunset from the Pier