October Reflection

It is the start of November, which I paid almost no attention to this year. I dropped over the candy-coated edge of Halloween and into my extra hour of sleep without thinking much about anything else. Last weekend was a sweet celebration--quiet, but still special.

But it is a new month, and there are only two more left in this whole year. The days in 2020 have blurred together such that it’s hard to realize the year is almost over. I’m stepping outside to feel the cooling sun on my skin and trying to ground myself in the here and now so I don’t miss anything. I want to see and hear and feel and learn from this year, and I don’t want to lose its own particular magic.

Emily P. Freeman, host of the podcast The Next Right Thing and the book by the same name, leads a reflection at the end of the month for her newsletter subscribers. It’s short and thoughtful and sometimes deceptively simple, but I like the way it helps me slow down and consider the month I just lived. This month she asked three questions: Where did you see God in October? What made you laugh in October? What is one word you’re holding onto as we move into November? 

So what are those answers for me?

In October I saw God in faces and heard his voice saying to love them all. That’s my job--to love God and to love people, and if I can do both as creatively as possible, so much the better. I heard him saying this through books I read (Just Like You, which I wrote about), Instagram follows (Bri McKoy echoed this in her IGTV post about the election), and the conversations we’ve had in this house. I have a lot to learn about love, but God keeps leading me to it.

I feel like I also heard God in laughter. I laughed at Dogman books and ridiculous memes and old TV shows.The world has felt solemn in many ways, but my kids laugh freely, and the sound, like water over rocks, lightens my heart and grounds me in the moment. As I flip back through the pages of my journal, I see that I’ve been really sad and worried in October, but we’ve also laughed so much around here, and that laughter changes things.

Hope is the word I’m holding onto as I roll into November. Emily Dickinson said, “Hope is the thing with feathers,” and while I see that, it doesn’t seem accurate for the way I’m hoping. Something with feathers is fragile and flimsy. It would be buffeted by wind and storm and might never reach the destination at all. My hope is a hand in mine, palm to palm, fingers squeezed tight.

This is a new month, and I’m grateful for it.

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