Basic things like work and trips to the grocery store are tricky right now ("Dear Immune System, wish you were here. Love, me"). Work closed 2 hours early yesterday, and although I have the most wonderful boss in the world who would've totally allowed me to stay until I'd finished my quota, I didn't want to be the only little kid stuck inside while all the others played, so I worked ahead a little and came in early. At this point in my life, that is enough challenge for one week, but I also needed to get to the big-fancy grocery store to buy gluten-free rolls for an offering to the Thanksgiving table, and a drive into Dallas on the eve of Thanksgiving is a sobering thing.
I decided to take the back roads, and fell right into one of those unexpected idylls of everyday life that are as delightful as they are unforeseen. As I pulled out of the parking lot at work, I noticed 3 or 4 trees which had turned a beautiful red, apparently overnight. The route was mostly residential, and mostly very nice residential, through neighborhoods just old enough to have mature trees.
In Texas, the trees are capricious. Some turn red, others don't turn at all, and some are just a sickly in-between. You don't know what will greet you when you glance up from traffic — the ordinary or the beautiful — and even the beauty rises up out of dead lawns. This framing lends a savor and poignancy to fall that entirely eclipses the boisterously overfilled spring.
The way home led into the remains of the sunset. It took me a long time to learn to look up for beauty, but in Texas the sky holds terrible and wonderful things. Winds unfelt below had pushed and pulled the clouds into sweeps of pink and grey.
The entire drive was an experience of how God's goodness is so great that rather than being good in spite of the limitations, He causes the limitations to work with Him.
