There is water on the windows.

It happens when warm humidity touches cool glass.

This week might be the last warm week before cold sets in for good. 

The windows might be swampy for a few more days. 

I long to build a crackling fire.

I want to turn on the heat and smell that first season burn.

“It’s been the same season long enough,” I tell myself.

 

This in-between adds a bit of disorganization

when considering closets and cooking.

Should I put summer clothes away?

Should I make soup heavy with creams and meat?

 

Instructive on so many fronts. 

It seems there has to be retreat from what has been, even with no sure footing yet in what will be, creating a distinct kind of yearning for what’s to come. 

 

From where does this observation spring?

Winter is coming and the mild days of fall will abruptly end.

This is the space faith is fitted for. 

Where its activity is most fruitful. 

 

Real faith is not hocus pocus.

Some talk about a wish.

Religion out of mere tradition.

 

I live learning that faith is plausible, that I can thrive in a now, but not-yet reality. 

After a brief period, as I know time to be,

What I expect, when it is built in reality, will come to pass. 

Living expectant has been the way of faith for centuries.

Yet, without Truth how do I live in the in-between?

If I say there is nothing I can know for sure,

how can I then expect anything at all,

only a painful untethering of life from meaning. 

Life without seasons.

 

Pilate says unto Jesus, What is truth?

“…for this I came into the world to testify to the truth.”

What then does His life say about reality?

What can I know?

Now unhidden is the Truth about God and Man.

And so, I can know how to live by faith.

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