I stepped outside my mom’s house and smelled the fall air. I felt refreshed.
It’s one of the benefits of growing up in the country. There’s a freshness in the air much of the time. The land is open, and you can see and hear a long way.
I know fall isn’t all fresh and clean. I watched bugs fly around, looking for a warm place in the sun to bask for a while before the sun slipped away. I saw harvest chaff floating through the air. I saw a glistening cob web.
As I drove home, I watched tractors in the field, churning up more dust and dirt as the crop poured into the machinery. The dust had settled on the plants for weeks and months while growth was taking place. There is so much beauty and provision and even death in the fall season. It seems such an juxtaposition that death and growth seem to coincide so much of the time. But it’s a season I’ve lived in and through in recent years.
Perhaps you’re going through a spiritual, emotional, relational, or some other sort of death right now. When you are able to take a step and consider another perspective, think about the growth that might be happening simultaneously. What type of growth is possible? What growth do you want?
In order for the crop to grow, the seed must die. But the crop produces even more seeds.