Hand in hand With Spirit Wind

This is a post that has been simmering in me for over a month now… but I just couldn’t seem to put it into words for you until now… (Notice the way even the trees seem to be ‘holding hands’ in these photos… 🙂 )

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It was one of those enticing October-only days when skies turn up the collar of their gray coats against the chill, but autumn races hand in hand with the wind, best friends, like two children skipping, laughing, ringing their joy across the playground and inviting all who will to their game.

Jaunting down the 45-mile an hour country lane, I spied these two imps steal the “r” from “gray” with their radiance, transforming that descriptive back to the original meaning of the old English word for when our hearts were old-fashioned, light and merry, calling me to stop and join them there in the wood. I had barely pulled into the adjacent church lot and clutched my camera to do so, was just opening my car door, when they fairly yanked it out of my grasp, clasped my hands and pulled me forward with the “O, let me show you this” exuberance of youth.

If I’d been wearing a hat (I suddenly had a lightness of feeling to my head, as though I were), I might have reached quickly to stop it flying off — such was the gaiety behind that beckoning wind! I loved the buoyancy in it that made me feel as if I could walk on and on.

The wind was brisk and whipping my hair up and about my face, with movement everywhere. Leaves skitter-danced their crackling song at my feet, leading me round the ordinary bend of coiffured lawn to a sea of enchanting dreams in a wild wood. There they spread out in waves of gold and amber before me, swooping into my very spirit and taking my breath with wonder. For the moment I stood alone in the simultaneous hush yet constant murmuring sound of it (save my two friends dancing their glee in circles round me), and found myself breathing right out loud

– Ohhhh… my…gosh! Is this real?

Like coming upon a fairy wood, it was, even more so than I’d caught peripherally from the car window. Interspersed here there, tree trunks watched majestic over their glory carpet, dark and rich in tone, whispering in their open branches of kingdom and castle and streets of gold. Round and round my feet, the leafy crackling chase was on, sending piles in drifts, stirring up light and fire and racing it over me.

Off across the expanse of this leaf-strewn glen, I could see a rosy lamp glow behind the windows of a charming white colonial farmhouse. My favorite kind. Bright orbs of orange pumpkins lined the porch steps like guards on welcome duty, and drifts of smoke curled from the chimney as if to say, “There’s a pot of stew waiting, fresh bread warming on the stove…”

Still, I felt as an interloper upon this magic scene. Like stepping into a painting behind the artist’s back… knowing I was snapping shot after shot of stolen vignettes, but not wanting to miss capturing a trace of it.

“Are you watching me from your windows?” I wondered as I relished the dearness of this house set on this land expanse of golden light. “Are you, too, savoring this view from the opposite end? Could it ever just be commonplace to you?

Misting behind my lashes, this uncommon beauty and warmth and coming home feel of it, everything felt as if it were drawing the Father’s arms close about this set apart place.

Turning reluctantly to leave, gold leaf fell into my hands as if one last benediction to hold it all close, stinging again tears behind my eyes for reasons that seemed inexpressible… until His heart seemed to say it in the stirring at my feet…

See this sea of golden waves?
Feel the wind racing, stirring?
This is my Spirit moving over my people even now.
Not all are hearing my call…

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O that my Own would begin to cover the land with their prayers, allow Me to carpet and blanket the world with them, mix with radiant color and fire and stir all hearts back unto Me!
This before you is a picture of what I would do, if my people would humble themselves, join hands and hearts with Me and pray, pray, pray!
I would stretch out your prayers in an endless sea of transforming Glory!
I am calling you, calling all… I am praying for you…
Wake up! Listen to my stirring song and sing it out!
Time is short and harvesting is the Glory I want to spread before you.
Pray for My forgiveness and protection and healing on your land that I may stay what may come if My Bride remains asleep...

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Pray for My hope and light to sweep the nations’ hearts.
Pray for My Kingdom Come, My Will be done, as you never have before.
Pray in and amongst all the moments of your days… and see what I will do.
My Heart and Spirit are waiting for your open hands to receive the gold that pours out from such prayers. But you don’t lift your hands to take it.
You are my Beloved. Stay not asleep.

Once again, I was jaunting down the same country road one November week. Color lingers there like torn banners caught on bare branches, now. A late-turning burst of radiance stands out as loosely-strewn jewel, spotty reminders of warmth. But as I pass the wood of my enchanted October moment, I find an aching catch in my voice as once again words rush aloud …

“Oh! You have stripped the wonder away!”

For now, the lawn is pristine of raked up leafy carpet, as if I’d come back to Brigadoon… only to find the glory hidden once more in the mists. It doesn’t seem nearly as expansive, and the fairy-like cottage winks a bit forlorn, stripped of raiment now.

“How could you do it?” I think, a bit unfairly, I know.  Raking is inevitable.

Still… I will remember and hold close your picture of prayer Glory there, Father…

Your glow that teems the atmosphere with living embers.

And though winter seem to cover, help us keep your smoldering fires burning!

I will see our prayers as you do, innumerable as the sands and mixed with holy fire, poured forth from heaven’s golden incensed bowls. The prayers of your people, and those from You, our intercessor before the Golden Throne…

Sorrows, joys, you turn to glory, Lord. 

Help us take heart and hands with You.

  

What have you heard Him speaking through fall this year?

© Pam Depoyan

photos: mine.

 

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         Give Me Grace  Sunday Stillness with Janis Cox