When the Light Starts Changing

Last Friday night, we hit pause on the movie we were watching and meandered to the kitchen for snacks. Rich looked out at the darkening east windows and said, “Wow...”

I knew what was coming next and looked up at the clock. Sure enough —it was a little after 8 o’clock, and the words arrived right on time, just like they do every year in mid-August.

It wasn’t dramatic, and it’s definitely not autumn. The marigolds are still blooming, the cicadas are still singing. The air still carries the heat and humidity that says Missouri Summer.

And yet...something has shifted, changed almost without our noticing.

The sweet light hits at a different time.

“It’s sure getting dark earlier,” he said.

Once those words have been spoken for the first time each fall, I can’t help but lean into them every day. I feel summer — and time in general — slipping away.

Late summer has a particular kind of honesty. Even though the mimosa still has blooms and the grass still needs mowing (yes, it does!), the days quietly begin giving back a minute here...another minute there. The sun rises a bit later and sets a bit earlier.

Nothing is ending…not yet, but something is changing. The air is tinged with a sense of “if you’re gonna do it ‘this summer’ ya better get going!”

Maybe part of it is knowing I have a birthday coming up? My subconscious reacts to these subtle changes.

The mums show up at the garden center. One earlier sunset somehow becomes a clear reminder that the days of summer are coming to an end. Which then turns to anticipation of crisp fall mornings and first frosts. The holidays are around the corner bringing cold, gray, winter with them. Will we get much snow this year?

In less than thirty seconds my thoughts travel from a lovely August sunset to a January blizzard!

Get a grip, woman!

Is that one of the ways anxiety works?

Fear is a useful tool that helps keep us alive. Fear picks up on a change, but then it passes the pen to anxiety to write the rest of the story! In an instant, one earlier sunset becomes an entire snowy winter.

Perhaps that’s why anxiety feels so exhausting?

Life demands that we live in today, which has troubles enough of its own, but anxiety asks us to simultaneously live in seasons we’ve yet to reach. Anxiety leans into tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that.

I remember when Wyatt was learning how to walk. Worrying about whether he would bonk his noggin on the corner of a table morphed into worries about teaching him to ride a bike and drive a car!

And again…get a grip!

Get a grip…yes, and one of the ways I did that was by recognizing that fear isn’t something we ever eliminate completely. Fear…it’s just a part of ordinary life, an emotion that shows up occasionally (uninvited!) and hops in the car and wants to go for a ride.

So what do we do then?

Resilience is learning that when fear jumps in the passenger seat for a ride, we don’t have to hand over the steering wheel. I don’t have to manufacture certainty about tomorrow…but I do need to remember who is driving.

That evening, after Rich commented on the earlier sunset, we went out to the front porch to watch the sky change colors. The sky softened into pink and gold, and the cicadas continued their chirping. The first stars appeared overhead.

Nothing about that evening asked me to solve all the problems of September, or October, or January. The sunset invited me to be faithful to an August night.

Perhaps that’s one of the hidden gifts of our ordinary days. Be a lily in the field of your life. Live this season instead of borrowing trouble from seasons before they arrive. There will be time enough to welcome autumn and prepare for winter.

A Question: Where has your mind been traveling lately? Are you living in today’s light? Or have you quietly wandered into a season that hasn’t arrived? Have you been traveling alone, or have fear and anxiety gone along for the ride?

An Invitation: The next time you notice something changing—a little earlier sunset, a first yellow leaf, a cooler morning—pause before letting your thoughts race ahead.

Take one slow breath, look around, and ask yourself, “What season am I actually in right now?” Then engage that season as gently as you can.

Tomorrow will arrive soon enough.

With you in the growing,