nat’s diaries, #2: romanticization ♡
This post is dedicated to the late Tara Smith. You were absolutely loved, sweet gal, and left us far too soon. I pray we will all be able to see you again someday. ♡
Click HERE to donate to her family’s GoFundMe page if you would like to help during this tragic time.
dearest friend,
It’s been such a beautiful, chill morning (as “chill” as dealing with three boys five and under can be, haha). And I’ve just realized, like… the fall season is MY story/poetry/deep-writing-season!
Maybe it’s the smells — cold and fall, fresh and brisk, being inhaled and exhaled, making you shiver with contentment; freshly brewed tea that billows smoke and takes forever to get cool enough to drink; candles that are so spicy and warmly scented, you want to keep them burning forever; ash from bonfires that you accidentally breathe in and cough out;
Or maybe it’s the sounds — leaves crunching underfoot; wind whistling through the trees on a cool evening; animals scurrying through the woods in the backyard; a light rain that hits the roof just right, dragging you deeper into a restful state; songs like sweater weather by the nbhd or all too well by taylor swift that you play on repeat and scream at the top of your lungs in the middle of your living room to get into the fall mood; the crackling of a bonfire; a worship session around a dying fire with your youth group; all the littles running rampant and shrieking with excitement at thanksgiving and Christmas evening gatherings, exhilarated from the sticky, sugary-sweet candied apples and new toys they’ll forget about when the new year rolls around; your sister playing Christmas songs right as halloween ends, because it’s never too early to get into the holiday spirit; a woodpecker, somewhere distant — near, yet far — knocking the wood in on a tree, carving himself out a new home before the winter settles in;
Or maybe it’s the feels — chunky sweaters and knee socks that squeeze the body in a warm hug; being surrounded by friends and family you only see once a year for the holidays; big jackets that make your hair stick up and shock you when you touch something metal; flannels and plaid that get you cozy and inspired; thick socks inside of boots, so tight you can barely move your toes; cozy blankets and warm fires after a hot shower; cuddling close to family and friends while having a hallmark movie marathon; sticking your hand out the window because the weather is an absolute perfect mix of cool and warm while driving on backroads with a destination to nowhere; shocking someone on accident after pulling off a thick jacket, the electricity startling you both into fits of laughter; bales of hay beneath your legs, making you scratch or lay a blanket down over top of them as you take a hay ride in the late hours of the evening;
Or maybe it’s the tastes —roasted pumpkin seeds; hot chocolate and hot cider; pies of every kind, with nuts and cinnamon; comforting teas like chai that are so hot they burn your tongue; pumpkin spice lattes that bring out your inner white girl; turkey that your dad spent the past ten hours cooking; cranberry sauce that’s tangy but brings all the tastes at supper together; stuffing and mac and cheese that your grandma put her heart and soul into; candy that your little sister spent the past three hours collecting as she went door-to-door, making you both sick with how much you eat in one sitting;
Or, lastly, maybe it’s the sights — huge sticks and brush piled up for a bonfire on a november evening; overcast skies reflecting the only colors hanging on: the dead yet alive leaves that fall from the trees; foggy skies as you hike up a mountain with a group of your closest friends, tugging your jacket tighter to your body as the cold sets in; sunsets that bring shorter days and longer nights as the time turns back; evenings that last as long as backroads; gathering with friends just to play a board game because it’s too cold to do anything else; the words written in a book with fine print, bringing visuals to your mind in the dim light of your bedroom before you close your eyes; family and friends faces lighting up with smiles as they untie bows on meaningful presents you give them;
The weather. The clothes. The colors. The significance of things dying and breaking and falling — only to become brand new once the harsh winter season is over, once the spring has sprung and brings rain — and new flowers; new life.
The Christian walk is like this, I’ve come to realize.
It is a constant summer — bright, sunshiny contentment, no matter the storms that blow in and fade out.
It is a constant autumn — a constant death — to the flesh, to the self — bright greens fading to deep emotions of reds and yellows and oranges.
It is a constant winter — a constant repentance; a constant grief over the death of the old self.
And it is a constant spring — a constant gathering of new life, filled with pastel yellows and light greens, a warmth that dusts off the chill of the harsh blue winter, the cold icy grief that rolls off the back with forgiveness, newness, and purity.
It’s funny how much can be related back to the Christian journey; funny, to me at least, that simple season changes can remind me so much of the life of a genuine Christ-follower.
Paul writes in his letter to the Corinthians,
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold the new has come.”
— Paul the Apostle
(2 Corinthians 5:17, English Standard Version)
So, be new, dear friend. Let this season change inspire transformation within your own heart and mind. Turn back to Him — daily — living in accordance with His Word, letting His commands be written upon your heart and letting him cause a metamorphic renewal within you entirely.
much love and more,
