March 19, 2013 by hightideanddusk
I can never decide whether or not I like Autumn. One good thing is celebrating my birthday, but then it gets cold, and I hate being cold. Actually, I hate the temperature swings between being cold outside and not wearing enough layers, arriving at your destination and being either overheated from the rush or just overdressed for the air conditioned destination.
Autumn seems to be full of nostalgia too. That sweetly bitter taste of a memory you can’t quite remember but that lingers in your heart.
All I can dream of is the plains of North Canterbury and how much I’d like to sit in a paddock in the middle of nowhere. About the sky so big it swallows the Alps into a blue oblivion.
Autumn is also the month that I like to get mad about lots of stuff and throw things out and generally get some drastic change in the air.
But most of all this Autumn I have been a part of a vast and chaotic series of misunderstandings, and no matter how I might try to ignore them, it’s time to have some hard conversations.
Hope and grapes was a sign I misread up in Tauranga. The sign actually read Hops and Grapes (which makes more sense for a liquor store!), but I think the way I misread it is a good symbol for how easy it is to either be heard as saying something else, or hear other people wrong.
I could just leave the miscommunication and not bother to clear it up, not bother to clean up the damaged friendships, but in God we have a commandment to love. Leaving the mess behind isn’t loving anyone, and neither is ignoring the problem.
So I guess it’s time to pull on my pink rubber gloves and get down to the nitty gritty, applying equal measures of honesty and forgiveness to this mess I’m in.