The Certainty of Change

It is one of those afternoons, where I am tucked inside my little house, with a blanket,  a cup of coffee and the rhythm of the rain on my windows. The fall rains have started in Oregon, and it's ok. Yes, it's ok. That is usually not like me, to be so "ok" with rain. But I've realized that in a world that is so uncertain,  there is comfort in the changing seasons; there is comfort in knowing something will happen. There is comfort in waiting, in anticipating for it to occur, and then have it come to fruition.
 Each year we know, even on the sunniest of days, that the rain will come. We know that it will get progressively darker throughout October. We know that it will be a little harder to wiggle our way out from under the covers in the morning to the chilly, dark air. These things I used to dread; I used to mourn the coming of late fall and winter like a long good-bye at the airport.
But what I realized is that there is a certain comfort in knowing, without a doubt, that certain things will happen at certain times in the year. Now that I've lived in the same house for over three years, I know when certain trees in my yard will turn certain colors. I know that a slight red can be detected in the very very tips of my towering maple tree in the backyard around mid August. I know that it will tease me, because the color actually won't creep slowly up the leaves and branches until the first week in November, when it will be the most luminous crimson and gold. During that week, the sun will radiate through the painted branches. And, like a filter, it will cast a deep, warm, red glow throughout my kitchen.  But then, one by one, each leaf will float down...down...down and lay dormant on the ground below. By mid November, the tree will be bare; and I will have a lot of raking to do. I don't need to mourn the demise of my tree, because soon after, my Japanese maple will suddenly explode with color. By Thanksgiving, the blackberry and grape vines wrapped around the fence next to us will be so illuminated, I fear being woken up at night! :)
Every year I wait with anticipation. Even when the days before show no signs of change, I know, without a doubt, what will come.  And it always does.
There is comfort in this, when the world around me is uncertain and doesn't make sense. There is comfort in knowing that God doesn't change, and I think He reminds us of this through the certainty of the seasons. Even if all the signs try to convince us that it won't happen, that the rain won't come, we know, without a doubt, it will.
 One fall under my glorious red maple, I was moving my life into my new home. I sat in the kitchen, under the glow of the tree, dreaming about all the memories that would take place here.
 The next year, under the same glow, I was praying that the stock market would stop falling, and thus the end of the world wouldn't devour us all so painfully.
The following year, I realized the world didn't end, but instead it was spinning awfully fast; I was in the whirlwind of finishing my grad classes, coaching volleyball and working full time. I barely noticed the tree; but, it was there.
 Now, as I write, the maple changes, and I notice it because I'm not so busy. Even though I've waited for it, I am still marvelled by it.
Generations have come. Generations have gone. There was uncertainty. There was the unknown. Yet, the seasons still came. Nothing can stop them.
We can trust. We can wait. We can know, that God remains certain.
Like His seasons.
Like the rain.
It will come; and I will be comforted.