Autumn's gold

Oh glory, yesterday I found fall, at last! But I get ahead of myself.

That comfortable chill has turned into raw cold; it was 1 degree Celsius this sunny morning. Walker has a theory that if it’s sunny, the temperature will be lower than if it’s gloomy, and yesterday that sunny cold got me all over again. Thank goodness for life-saving Ugg slippers!


You know those days where the dryer refuses to work, and your brain's muddled, and your dinner plans go awry because you don’t have the right ingredients? Welcome to yesterday. But , there were those blessed little glimpses that showed me that no, life really was fine.

Walk was home much of the morning, and brought out that wonderful old friend, and I cried; it was the first time he’s played for me since we’ve been married.


We reminisced about our more-musical days. . . Cello way over there in New Jersey, I miss you!


Come afternoon, Walker headed out for a meeting, and a fix-it man was lying underneath the washer/dryer combo, so I decided to make a break for old territory.

I wanted to travel back to where I lived two years ago. I wanted to see my big wide field, my old home. What I found was something entirely different from the flowers and cold walls I’d expected. With late afternoon light streaming down, I found autumn’s gold, at long last.


Leaves were curled, not broken, and full of fire. And they were everywhere. Every corner in every stone wall had collected them. The world had been brushed orange and gold.


I’ve lived in many places that have felt like home. My sunny bedroom with yellow walls. Dorm rooms with posters of NYC and pink and green striped comforters. A new apartment with three awesome friends. A room of lamps and laughter in a girls’ home.

And two years ago, David Russell Apartments. (Best feature ever: heated floors. The lap of luxury, I tell you. Damp clothes? Throw them on the floor! Cold feet? Get out of bed!) DRA was quiet, and I wrote like a maniac there. It still sits across an expansive field, and I loved seeing it, even if it's not home anymore.


Everything beautiful here is pointing to something so much more beautiful. And when I find slots in my day that seem other-worldy, it reminds me what all these little instants are pointing me to, my only real home.

By the time I hit the Old Course, my hands could barely feel the camera. But that grass was just so tempting. Green, clean, even grass. I love my home in Scotland.


And even better, thank you, Jesus, for hope of a home that all the places that feel like home in this world imitate.