Fall has come to Covenant, and come with a vengence. After weeks of relentless rain, at last the weather cleared enough for us to notice the leaves were changing. It’s my favorite time of year, and the cold snap in the air is incredibly nostalgic to me. I have great memories of this season. I think it would be fantastic to fall in love in the fall. But this season is also a hard one for me. The changing leaves are usually symbolic of the changes in my life as well. Often, the word “fall” is more evocative of heartache than the splendor of autumn leaves.
I turned 22. I also registered for my last semester of college yesterday. I’m ready for a rocking chair and some knitting, ready to let these “old bones” rest awhile. Everyone laughs at me when I say that, but I feel old in my spirit.
I started taking medication for depression. I’ve now joined the ranks of those who take a prescription drug every morning. The bottles line the side of my sink, like orange and white soldiers ranked with their multicolored warning lables. I pop two pills faithfully every morning, and another half a pill at night. My friends and I sit around and discuss things like side effects, diagnoses, and the pros and cons of particular medications. Isn’t this something that is supposed to become a part of life only when we are old? Since when did the young need so much medication just to live normally? Yet 75% of the girls on my hall have been diagnosed with depression at some point in their short lives.
Futhermore, all my friends are getting married. Fellow RA Sarah and I just pounced on the book “101 questions to ask before you get engaged” in my friend Josh’s room. Although the majority of Covenant students are single, my circle is increasingly becoming taken. I miss kids. I want to get married. The possibility doesn’t seem to be looming on the near horizon, but particpating in and celebrating the union of so many dear ones makes me wonder where my story is going. I work for a lady on the mountain, checking her email and making copies of her law textbooks, and driving through the leaves past the kids coming home from school and the old couples out walking and the moms jogging makes me long to be part of a community again. College students are great, but I miss old people. And young people. And in-between. Dorms are great, but I want to live in a neighborhood.
In the midst of these celebrations of life, there has been a lot of death lately. Schoolmate Katja just lost a little sister, hallmate Emil lost a neighbor, hallmate Susannah lost several relatives in the past month, and my close friend Joe just laid his mother to rest. Then my best friend found out her brother might go to jail.
Needless to say, it was a rough weekend.
Sunday morning, I sat down with Psalm 103 and read, “As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.”
At church on sunday, I was unable to sing “O, the deep, deep love of Jesus,” one of my favorite hymns, because I was crying too hard. All the familiar questions resurfaced. My heart was in Psalm 88, a wail of lament that just would not be hushed. There was so much brokenness, so much death and pain around us. Did God see? Did he hear our cries? Did he remember how frail we were? What was he doing?
I sat in the pew, looked out the windows at the bright orange leaves, and thought about my friend Joe’s words when he shared with me the news of his mother’s passing. “I looked at her body,” he said, “and you know what, Katie? I was jealous of her.” I imagined her singing before the throne of God this morning, no longer bearing the pain of separation, home for the first time in her life, and I was also jealous of her. Oh, for faith to be sight.
While my pastor spoke words of encouragement and hope, I wrote,
Yesterday was the worst day of the year. October 24. Jessica’s birthday. Ache. It’s fall and the leaves are changing. The city looks like fire. It’s that time of year when the leaves go out in a blaze of fire, right before they die for the winter. And death–it’s all around me. Joe’s mom died on thursday, Katja’s sister yesterday. We wept and prayed in Daniel’s apartment and just didn’t know what to say to God. I don’t know him. I don’t know who this God is. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know if he loves me. I think he is unkind. I don’t understand. But I know he grieved too. Alpha and Omega. Death and life. The enemy has been defeated. And Joe’s mom is worshipping at the throne today.
I looked up from the page and out the window. My eyes took in the bright sunshine, finally chasing away the dark overcast clouds until the sky was a clear blue. The bright orange leaves and sunshine-blue sky illuminated my eyes, and a beam of light made it into my heart.
I want to be a leaf.
And not just any leaf. I want to be the bright red ones.
Dying, but refusing to go down without a fight.
Being most beautiful while most vulnerable.
Leaving one last powerful impression.
Having the most life while facing the most death.
Defying darkness with light in a hard season.
Frail, yes. So very frail. But bold.
My time is so short. The fall is surrounding me. But it hasn’t won yet.
