I visited Lucy’s final resting place again today. It doesn’t make me as teary as it used to. I still get sad thinking about how much I miss my little girl, but I have so many happy memories, too.

Thanks again, Lucy, for all the kitten kisses, the purrs, the therapy sessions, the head rubs. Thanks for all the love.

You set the bar high for every pet I will ever have after you. I think you would have liked Peanut, even if she’s a little spaz at times. 

Even though my heart is healing, I will always miss you and carry those paw prints left by you.

Or it may actually be here. I can’t be sure.

I do know that in 22 days comes the official start of fall. At least that’s the autumnal equinox and the official end of summer. Tennessee for the most part doesn’t pay much attention to that day and persists in having summer for about another month or so (all while probably saying, “Hold my beer”).

But I can finally start to see it.

Yes, pumpkin spice everything is coming, and I for one am estatic about it. I’m a fan of the pumpkin spice, even if it does tend to conjure up images of white suburban girls in yoga pants.

Also, fall brings the return of the NFL and college football, as well as fantasy football. I’m hoping for an improvement over last year, which while not bad for a beginner, ended a bit disappointingly.

I’m eagerly anticipating the cooler temps, the changing leaves, the bonfires, and flannel. To me, flannel is like wearing a warm hug all day long.

There’s good to be found in every season, but fall will always be far and away my favorite. I said it before, but fall tends to get me nostalgic more than any other time of the year. If I had to choose just one season, it would be fall leading into Christmas every single time.

22 days. That’s it. Not that I’m counting. Or excited.

“What is my barrenness? It is the platform for His fruit-creating power. What is my desolation? It is the black setting for the sapphire of His everlasting love.

“I will go in poverty, I will go in helplessness, I will go in all my shame and backsliding, I will tell Him that I am still His child, and in confidence in His faithful heart, even I, the barren one, will sing and cry aloud.” (Charles Spurgeon)

That’s what it means to be poor in spirit, the very ones Jesus called blessed in the Beatitudes.

It feels very much counter-cultural, even in Christian circles.

While the Apostle Paul was proud to be able to boast in his weakness, knowing that’s where God’s power is perfected, we’re supposed to always present the happiest, shiniest version of ourselves. Just look at social media to see how well we’ve perfected the facade.

But Jesus longs for us to be our true selves. Come to me, He says, all who can finally admit that they’re weary and exhausted and overwhelmed by life, and I will give you the rest you crave.

I honestly had a good day today. But there are still times when I have to confess that I can’t do anything apart from God’s providential care. I need Jesus just as much on a good day as on those days where I can’t seem to do anything right.

I still do the prayer where as you inhale you proclaim, “Abba Father,” and as you exhale you say, “I belong to You.”

That’s still a good way to keep centered and remind yourself of Who’s really in charge of your day and your life. Spoiler alert: not you.

May we come to the place where we can finally take off the masks of perfection and performance and finally be our true selves, embracing and encouraging each other instead of envying and competing with each other.

Abba Father, we belong to You.