Fall is not my favorite season, though it’s recently grown on me. Instead, I relish the first signs of spring, of tracking the morph of new buds and leaf pods into maturation. Every year they’ve escaped my vigilant observation, then suddenly display their glory of life unfurled. But fall is the opposite. It hints of hibernation and the process of life shutting down.

My father died in fall. The news of his fatal illness happened on the very day my husband and I were informed of our infertility.

Life paralyzed with this double blow.

The soul racking sobs were relentless. I struggled just to breathe. Death permeated my past and future.

Dad lived only  for a few months more. The night of his death the house filled with supportive relatives. I retreated to the basement in a desperate effort to be alone.

The finality of his death forced me to hopelessly stare infertility in the face.

As one loss closed in death, another awakened raw and raging. I became undone. This was death upon death with no hope of life — anywhere.

Fall turned into winter. It was a forced “merry” Christmas, the only one in the history of our marriage without a tree. An obligatory “happy” New Years’ Eve party included a pick-a-verse-out-of-a-hat activity with which to mark the new year.

I was taken aback when I read my verse:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” {Matthew 11:28-29}

A Spirit-directed word of encouragement and hope to assure me of God’s care and presence. I tucked the verse deep into my pocket and heart for safe keeping.

The road ahead provided no easy answers. The losses behind and before were difficult. Most people, even family members, were reluctant to speak into our private pain. Yet God stepped into the heaviness and brokenness in gentle, healing ways through a comforting song, an encouraging sermon, an apt Scripture — all reminders of who He is. These provided a deep assurance of His presence, even without the vision of a clear path forward. But then . . .

God’s greatest gift of hope and life and laughter came in the shape of a vibrant toddler who needed a permanent family.

“Oh, yes, God! YES!”

He came to live with us in May; his adoption finalized in July. We opened wide our hearts to becoming family; we opened our home to fostering. On Halloween, we were asked to foster a beautiful, four-month-old girl. An absolute treat! Another YES! Two years later, again in the fall season, she became a forever part of our family. Such goodness and healing.

Through these children God breathed life into the ashes of our broken souls.

Over the years, God blessed us with two more sons, each child a gift from His heart. Having children did not erase our pain and loss, but through them God softened the sting. More chapters of brokenness occurred, yet repeatedly God demonstrated His work of restoration within us. In so doing, He caused growth and faith and a more intimate knowing of Him. He gave life a holy perspective.

God continually works His love and purposes through every season of the year and season of life.

Death confronted me in my father’s untimely end (the generations behind) and through infertility (the generations before). But, both are in the God’s hands. Psalm 139:5 affirms His promise to hem me in, behind and before. What a comfort to know He holds us close in His sovereign care throughout our past, present, and future.

It’s of precious value to fight to see God in every day and every season of life.

I have come to search for beauty in fall: the crisp air, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the display of the Master Artist’s palette of brilliant colors, all evidence of His character and presence.

He is always with us. He will never leave us. He sticks close in every season of life.

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