I have always loved the transition seasons, both spring and fall, but particularly fall. I love the brightly colored leaves blowing in the air. Pumpkins and mums line the fronts of stores and Starbucks sells pumpkin spice lattes. The day that I walk into Starbucks and see pumpkin spice latte listed for the first time is one of my favorite days of every year. There is a nostalgia that overtakes me every year as autumn approaches. This year it has been particularly strong. The fall comes much later in Tennessee than it does in the north. The leaves here are just starting to think about changing colors and I’ve found myself looking out the window wistfully almost every day, longing for the changes to appear. A few days ago I felt a shift. No so much a change of temperature as a change of mood. And I felt a sense of relief.
Summer in Tennessee is hot. It’s stifling and heavy. The air presses in on you like a thick down comforter. It’s hard to breath. And lately I’ve needed my breath. Needed my space. I had no idea how deeply rooted I was to my home in Alaska. To my friends and my job and the moose in the backyard. I’ve pulled those roots up. I’ve said goodbye to friends. Most of them more of an until-next-time type of goodbye but unfortunately a few of them have been more permanent. I stopped in Denver to say goodbye to my friend Chad and then a week after arriving in Tennessee I flew back to Denver to say goodbye to my precious friend Noel’s wonderful husband, Sawan. I spent time with one of my very best friends who is in the fight of his life against colon cancer. I entered a program that is slightly rocky and began working for a woman who has let her career drag on a little too long. It feels like the summer air has not only been holding in the heat, but every care and worry as well. And it’s made me tired.
There’s a park across the road from our house. I walk the paths there and sometimes run the bleachers at the soccer fields. I was at the top of the bleachers when I felt it. It was such a subtle shift that I almost missed it. There was just a hint at first. Almost like a breath against my cheek. But I paused and then I felt it. A breeze. Not a hot sticky wind, but a cool, refreshing breeze. I stopped and just let it wash over me. I lifted my arms, closed my eyes and for the first time in several months I stopped and just breathed deep.
I’ve been in a perpetual state of motion since school got out in May. Camping, fishing, hiking, packing, saying goodbye, traveling, experiencing the trip down, seeing old friends, spending time with family, moving in, starting school, starting a new job, adjusting to the south. My massage therapist told me once, “You don’t breathe deep enough. You’re tense because your muscles need oxygen. Your soul needs oxygen.” I’m finding this to be true. I’ve been rushing home in the afternoons to get to the park and walk. I find my route is determined by where the breeze is coming from. I find the breeze, turn my face to it until I can feel it blowing in the hairs at my neck, and I walk. The fear and the worry haven’t left completely, but in that breeze is the promise that something is to come. That’s what transition is about, easing into what’s coming next. And I remember that I’m not alone, for in each breath is the whisper of the Breeze Blower, reminding me that He’s here and I can find my rest in Him.
