Another summer of my life is making its way toward autumn—and I am too—riding on the calendar train as it chugs along the track of inevitability. I can hear the clickety/clack of the one-day-at-a-time progress toward the unknown territory of the future. I have hopes of seeing friendly faces waiting at the depot when I arrive, waving, not palm branches as if I were worthy of a holy reception, but at least hands gesturing a sign of welcome, “Glad you’re here!”
The thing is that all of us want to be welcomed to the future. After all, we’ve traveled through some sometimes rough and often threatening terrain. There were train robbers along the way, wanting to take our supply of joy and hope. There were things on the track attempting to interfere with us getting to a safe and lovely place. Yet we’ve made it this far so far. And we’ve survived pretty well. But for some, not necessarily altogether healthy.
By the way, it’s not the first time nor the first train we’ve journeyed on. And we know that how we travel—that is, what kind of passengers we are—makes a difference as to how we arrive at the next station, the autumn depot.
For one thing, were we congenial to the others on board, knowing that we all shared the ride in hope of a promising destination? Were we kind and forgiving of ourselves for when we lost hope and spent our time in anger and cynicism? Did we at least spend some time, even a millisecond, in prayerful thanksgiving for what is right with the world and for those who have made it so?
There are many ways of journeying on this train to the future. We will arrive at the station soon. Here and there, in our daily progress, maybe we could consider that we’ve made it safely thus far, and upon our arrival disembark and breathe in the fresh fall air, and celebrate the splendor of the colors of the new season, and most importantly, ordain ourselves as prophets of hope and joy and love.
Just a thought.
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