When the Work is Done

The bees have gone. 

I spend my summers listening to the methodical buzz that hums sunrise to dusk.  Bees.  Hundreds of them.  They swarm my giant crepe myrtles and my midsize too.  They flit from tiny flower to tiny flower until they are loaded and then they are replaced immediately when they fly back to their queen.  I have no idea where the hives are.  However, I can see them doing their work, providing for their own, and, unbeknownst to them, providing for the people of the North State. 

I love honey. 

But fall has come early this year.  So, last weekend I set out to start pruning.  Hot coffee in one hand and loppers in the other, I hit the porch steps and sucked that marvelous crisp air into my lungs.  I adore this time of year!

 I began the laborious process of reducing leaf laden branches to a manageable winter size.  I missed the soft buzz of the bees as my German Shepherds took advantage of the extended outdoor time.  Their yelps and whoop, whoop barking did not hit me in the same soothing way.  Still, I stopped a moment as they flew through the air, over and around one another. While lacking soothing sound, it was certainly entertaining. 

I cut back the evil trumpet vines and set about the flower bushes.  I know.  The noise would have bothered most.  However, I am a creature of habit and that noise was normal.  I had grown so used to it that its absence was a source of melancholy.  Things are changing, as they always do in the Fall.

I stayed out longer than I intended.  I love my flowers.  Working to make them grow vibrant is a peculiar joy.  Flowers, you know, are a simple Gift of God.  They are an unnecessary beauty; a sweet kiss from the maker who, like me, enjoys color and finds amazing ways to display it against the stunning green of stems and leaves and grass.  I always miss the flowers come November.

When the canines had completely crashed and threatened to nap in the dirty parts out back, I gave in and called them up to the porch for well deserved cookies and affection.  Then they, along with my now cold coffee, were taken inside. 

I rewarmed the brew and sipped it on my back porch.  I can see a great distance from that perch.  Soon I will see farther, as the leaves will drop and open up the view to  the mountains.  I leaned on a pole as my pups settled down across my slippers for a mid-morning nap. 

Change is never easy.  Fall comes with work.  Yards must be readied and tools stored for winter.  Cuttings pile up and pecan trees drop their coveted goods for me to gather.  Leaves fall relentlessly along with those abominable tiny acorns, until I long to give up and just live with the mess.  I don’t though, because in the end, all the effort will be blessed by a manageable winter and a bursting spring.  Every year when the daffodils and tulips come up, I am so glad I toughed it out.

I am not alone here...

Toughing it out is a way of life right now.  The world is not an easy place.  Hurt abounds and people are averse to reconciliation.  Churches, too many of them, are more interested in being right than being loving. People are getting hurt in ways I have never seen, and the hurt is not only deep, its unhinged.  The limits once observed by the people of God have all but been obliterated.  Grace is nothing more than a concept and forgiveness is a thing of the past.  It has been replaced with abandonment rooted in an unbiblical sense of some personal rights violation. Leaders are demanding and parishioners raging. People are being crushed of spirit, heart, soul and mind.

We are busy here at the Vinedresser’s.

Finding ways to help people grieve, release hurt and anger, let go of the dream that came crashing down on them and find a new journey is never an easy thing.  Letting go of what was for what is and is coming is like wrenching a fifty-pound stone out of a muddy rock quarry.  It’s messy. It’s resistant.  It takes every ounce of determination and strength one has.   

Change is hard.

The labor of it is tedious and emotional and frustrating and sometimes feels impossible.  Letting go of the past is the death of a dream we must admit will never come true, yet it must be done before a new dream can be felt.

But. 

When the work is done and wholeness returns, peace lights the darkness, and the new journey becomes palatable and inviting.  Then, as courage fills excitement, the heart gains energy and the journey becomes a welcome new teacher.

It's what we strive for.

***If you are struggling, email or call us.  We are here to help.  We will take you to the One who knows how to get you out of the darkness and into the peaceful light.***