J. Grant Swank, Jr.
Autumn has shown its gorgeous face once again in Maine.
With the showing comes praise to the God of autumn’s painting. God proves Himself over and over again in so many different fashions to the believer.
is replete with God’s promises of faithfulness in love. How could we grace children ever doubt Him?
Then we turn our eyes to the change of seasons to realize once again God’s promise keeping. He told Noah that following the flood the seasons would reveal themselves one by one year after year. So it has been. So it will be.
Therefore, as I drove through Maine’s southern parts today my soul was filled with gratitude to this Savior God. His colors were to right and left, sometimes dense. Then I thought that if the dull heart cannot see such artwork due to the bent on serving self, God must rejoice in His own handiwork.
How many woodlands are not seen at all by any mortal from one year to the next? Yet God takes in every leaf. He sees every glen. God spies out His palette. He dips His brushes in reds and yellows and greens. Someday I will ask God what He thought each autumn when surveying his worldwide spread.
In the meantime, I drink in the beauty. I drive slowly up the country roads. I peer into those fields, noting birds flitting about. They are carefree. I presume they too are giving thanks in their own unique communication links to Creator God.
As for my yard surrounding our Lake Sebago cottage, I could sit there to scan every inch of autumn all around me. I take a book or magazine with me to the picnic table, thinking I am going to read fully, deeply, and finally get through that novel.
But I find my eyes mesmerized by the same trees that have held my attention for season after season. I tell my head to tuck into the book; but my heart stays with the leaves, some fallen, some still clinging to the limbs.
This year must have outdone the last several, I whisper to my soul. But then again I know that I say that every autumn. And next autumn I no doubt will sing the same refrain.
As the world is swirling about with issues and more issues—mostly negative and foreboding—I bank on the God of autumn. He saved my soul. He continues to save my soul each day. He will save my soul through death’s door into the eternal season.
So why should I fret? With that, I won’t. The autumn bouquet surrounds me with comfort. I am reassured that my trust is secure.