Summer becomes Fall. No hurrahs, it just is. We plan our garden in early spring, envision the rows, green with bounty. Our garden of life, our lives, planned and planted out in the early spring of our youth, of our lives. Usually before we even know of His time, of how it encompasses all, we think we are in charge, we are the gardener. We are not.
For though the fig tree blossom not
nor fruit be on the vines,
though the yield of the olive fail
and the terraces produce no nourishment,
Though the flocks disappear from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet will I exult in my saving God.
The quietness of a grey, wet afternoon surrounds me and I think, This life I could embrace, this beginning of a contemplative life, yearning for nothing but constant prayer, to soar with the angels as I hear God's voice. But no, that is not for me. I'm here, in late afternoon merely quietly praying, recharging my batteries for what is to come. God has called me to be out in the world, to put my best unworthy self forward for all to see, to see the glory of Him shining in me. I must pray through distraction, turn my cheek and give them my beard to pull and then explain to them why I did that; to love God, family and country with my whole heart, with my whole mind and with my whole soul. Look, always in three's. Bless the Holy Trinity.