The back yard looks like a place where toy cars come to die.

Fall in all its beauty is dying too.

I sit outside with the baby girl in her socks and me in the sneakers that aren’t quite on properly because we rushed outside to try and catch some of the late afternoon light before it tick tocked away.

I haven’t always lived in a place that had seasons. Every time they change I catch my breath again at the unexpectedness of it. And how refreshing it is.

How strange it is to begin to welcome it – change – as a constant. Something reliable; something to count on.

How is it that a child’s John Deere Tractor can almost smell of sunshine?

The grass and leaves help me remember to breathe in and out and in again in a rhythm that reminds me I am alive and that breathing shouldn’t be taken for granted.

There’s a child’s bucket and a long forgotten garden hose and the damp of this pathway on a November afternoon.

And there are days when I ask God if he sees the upside down of my life. I ask Him straight out why He would give me things that seem impossible to balance. Work and children. Children and work. Marriage, tiny rental house, family scattered the globe over.

I tell Him I want easy and that I’m tired of tired.

And then He brings me out here to show me what He made.

That He gives me seasons.

And I can trust Him with change.

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