Last September I wondered if I would ever feel whole again, if I would have a sense of hope for the future, if I would be able to manage a new call with a heart breaking over a dying dog and a broken relationship and what I feared would be another door closed.
Last September, despite all that, I went to all the meetings and appointments that were part of the new school year for my daughter and the new program year for my church.
Last September I spent literally sleepless nights reading Psalms and emailing friends in other time zones.
Last September, I awaited the visits of friends coming to dig me out from under the rubble of emotional shock and awe.
Last September, our backyard apple tree had exactly two apples.
Last September, I survived. I remember my relief when it came time to turn the page on the calendar.
This September, I’m mostly adjusted to my new reality. My neighbor (another single gal) and I agreed to forgo the plow service this year and shovel the darn snow our own selves. LP offered to help.
This September, I’m feeling the average pastor’s version of Autumn Overwhelm.
This September, I have a different old dog, who doesn’t walk well on the leash and defies all efforts to train him better. He makes me laugh.
This September, I await a visit that will symbolize the new normal and the distance from last year.
This September, the apple tree has enough fruit for a pie, and I’m going to bake it.
This September, I’m beginning to understand what it might be like to feel whole.