You know, year after year, I never cease to be amazed by the beauty of the fall season. Fall? Perhaps you're wondering about the long, drawn-out summer I should be referring to right about now. Well, I've kind of been wondering about that too. You see, here in Central Oregon, the summer disappeared right at the end of August. Here in the land of the High Desert it actually got down to freezing on the last day of August. Sure, that was at 4 am, just before sunrise, but, even still, I didn't see that coming!

After a couple of days of flirting with October temps we're back into the upper 70's which, in my book, is just about perfect. Today, even though I was busy working away on a project, I just had to break away from my computer to step outside and enjoy the autumnal glory.  It was 77 degrees, with a soft breeze blowing in from the Cascades. I took a moment to glance over at the series of volcanoes that arise from our western horizon. A month from now they'll have fresh snow to cap their peaks. Then I looked down at our grass, now almost Irish green, lush and vibrant, having recovered recently from the hottest and driest part of the year.

I love this time of year. And I've always thought there was a metaphor in the colors, scents, and moderating calm of Autumn. We know that winter is around the bend, and yet, in the moment, we're taken with the golden hues of the present. And even with winter there is but the hint of a pause. A short intermission. A time to reflect, catch our breath, before the cycle begins anew, with new life at the jubilee of spring.

I'm a West Coast guy, originally anyway. Growing up in Vancouver, fall meant the rainy season was just beginning. The coffee shops, warm, dry and atmospheric, were always calling my name. The books on my bookshelf leaned forward in anticipation. Soon I would be immersing myself in them while sipping on piping-hot americanos.

Here in Central Oregon there really is no rain to speak of. We barely taste a few inches a year. And, to be honest, I like it that way. I've experienced enough wet precipitation to last a lifetime. What calls me to the coffee shops now is the onset of the cold temps. By the end of September we'll be dipping below freezing at night, hitting the 50's at midday. By the end of October my kids and I might very well be playing in the snow.

But then again, maybe not. Having been here for just a couple of years, I'm still familiarizing myself with the yearly cycle. And it probably takes a couple of decades to feel and anticipate these local shifts, unconsciously, deep in the marrow of your bones. I doubt I'll be around here that long. There's just too much to see. Two years ago I was experiencing the fall in southwest Washington which, like the lower mainland of British Columbia, has plenty of rain to speak of. A year before that I was taking in the fire of the foliage in the Smoky Mountains, during our stint in Knoxville.

My love for the fall has to do with much more than weather though. For me, it has always been the season, paradoxically perhaps, of new beginnings. During the falls of my youth (no pun intended, not really anyway) the leaves were dropping from the trees, but school - and its new intellectual adventures - always beckoned. And when I say the falls of my youth, I mean that rather broadly. I let myself meander through my twenties, experiencing three different universities and two different degree programs. Unlike many people, especially those seeking school for a bankable skill, I was in no rush. Come September new thoughts and new experiences were perpetually ready to burst into fruition. It was almost like we needed the fall, giving way to winter, to dim the natural glory, just for a while, in order for us to experience glory of a different kind, to draw from the newness of a different flavor.

Just the other day - as my senses began adjusting to the changing environment of gentler, more golden sunshine, moderating daytime temperatures, and nights when I suddenly start reaching for my quilt again - I awoke from a pleasant dream. In the dream I was seated in some non-descript classroom, ready to greet a new teacher and a host of new, intoxicating ideas full of complex, colorful paradoxes. Beyond that, nothing really happened in the dream. It was all about anticipation. Preparing for what was about to come. And that too has a parallel in our lives as disciples of Jesus, children of God. We seek to live fully in the present, while aware that the fullness of fullness comes on some perhaps distant, but inevitable horizon.

Getting back to education, while I may now be beyond actually taking that seat in some classroom somewhere, I still take that posture in life. I am, as they say, committed to being a lifetime learner; never content with what came yesteryear. Perhaps some may wonder when is enough enough? When is the acquiring of knowledge done? Well, the way I look at it, I forsook the seeking of knowledge many years ago for the pursuit of wisdom. And in my experience, nearly 37 years of it now complete, wisdom is like an onion. We keep uncovering new layers that, while still part of the original structure, reveal yet further, deeper insights. Insights that bring new discoveries, while simultenously changing, coloring and investing with new meaning, that which we already "know".

While I am no longer subject to learning sessions that have to begin in September, I still look at the onset of the fall as a time to embark on new adventures of discovery. It is a cycle of renewal tied in with the natural order, as it should be, don't you think? These cycles are good for us. We were meant to exist within them. At least that's what I think. And that's why our culture has lost something valuable in our abandonment of rites of passage.

Ah yes, I love the fall. But not so much just for itself. I love it in context. That is to say, I appreciate its role within the annual cycle of God's world. I appreciate the fiery tones, because, even while they signal the beginning of the end, I know that a new beginning cannot be far behind. And isn't that the way to look at life? To always remember the bigger picture. To remember that, whatever season of experience we're in, this too shall pass... both the good and the bad. But ultimately... to ultimate good. From glory to glory we go. And the cycles of nature are there to remind us of this. For we too are part of the process... intimately, inextricably, adam from adamah. Closer to the soil than we realize.