The Prodigal

Once upon a time, I had a blog. I loved it and nurtured it and willed it to grow, just like my houseplants.

And then my to-do list took over.
(You don’t even want to see the mums on my front porch right now.)

It’s like I went treasure hunting at the Flea Market and never returned. For two whole months. Were you worried?
*I never did find any treasures, just in case you were wondering.*

But in truth, I’ve been a little bit busy…

Busy sunning my shoulders on the beach in the last hot days of August.

Busy walking Snoop and seeing her lanky legs grow right before my eyes.

Busy baking Patty-cakes for my sweet mother-in-law on her birthday.

Busy breathing in the blessing of the golden hour. I walked out of the store with my ice cream, and there it was.

Busy dreaming up a garden shower for a very special bride.

Busy playing autumn-inspired domestic goddess in the kitchen with Mama’s apple cake recipe.

Busy frolicking at the fair with friends.

All of this busy-ness keeps us in high gear. While we’re busy not looking, all of these busy moments add up to a life.

But there is nothing like fall to remind us that it’s never too late. Maybe it’s the crisp morning air, the renewed energy emerging from the lazy days of summer, the leaves free-falling in the wind. We slow down. We breathe it all in.

We harvest the moments.

Fall is for coming home–for reminding yourself that it’s never too late to appreciate all you have and had, all you are and have been.

I feel fall in my bones, and so I return.

I pull out my favorite boots.

I say hello to my old friend.

I send the email I’ve been meaning to send.

I reach back to the places and the people who make me who I am.

I become vulnerable and honest and clean again.

I give thanks.

Because there’s nothing like fall to remind us that we’re never promised forever. The fragrant petals of summer flowers float to the ground. The warm, humid air of a summer sunrise is tempered by cool breezes and glistening stars in the pre-dawn sky. Lush tree branches and the branches of our hearts are pruned bare at the will of the wind.

We’re faced with the truth in hearty strokes of color, like the glory of an autumn sunset growing dark and deep.

And so returning home–falling back–can be difficult. It takes guts to see yourself for who you are, to reap what you sow, to come clean.

To do the things you’ve meant to do.

To slow down.

To say thanks.

To forgive.

Welcome home the prodigal with open arms.

It’s never too late.

And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine.
It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.
-Luke 15: 31-32

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