The Phil Files

We joke that we have two seasons in West Texas — hot and hotter. In reality, we do have some cold weather in parts of December, January, and February. But we don’t have autumn: we call fall, football season or hunting season. Donna grew up in Ohio with autumn as her favorite season. With the rolling hills and big trees of southern Ohio decked out in a breathtaking array of colors, and the smell and feel of autumn in the air, I can understand why: it is a beauty experienced. However, Donna insists we don’t have autumn in Texas. We accurately call is fall. In her words, “It’s 95 one day, a norther blows through and it’s 25 the next night. On the third day, all the leaves fall off the trees and blow to Mexico.”

Our family, however, is going through a major change of seasons right now. Megan is begins Physical Therapy school. Donna has headed back to teaching for the year. I am geared up for the school year and it’s opportunities at Southern Hills — at church, we describe three seasons of the year (or ministry): Fall Semester, Spring Semester, and Summer Vacation.

But yesterday marked a huge change of seasons for us. Tiny, our miniature dachshund for 12 1/2 years had his back go out this weekend. Megan and I knew before we took him to the vet yesterday what the outcome would be, we just couldn’t talk about it. Tiny has been there for the kids journeys through high school, barking at everything that moved and never slowing down. Until the last two months, he would literally drag us on a two mile walk. It was a hard hour at the vet’s: they were kind, but we still came home without him. Lexi — our little black shy dachshund — looks lost without her guardian and keeper. With a bunch of other pressure, Donna’s start to school and continuing battle with IC, deep concern for a friend who is in the hospital ICU, the AC man stepping through the ceiling in the attic, and now Tiny’s goodbye, it’s been a rugged couple of weeks.

Changes in season are like that sometimes. We often romanticize how the summer slips into Indian summer, and then autumn gently falls upon us. But that’s seldom the way it is. Summer’s green gives way to winter’s chill with withering heat, then thunder, lightning, wind, flash-floods, and cold. We marvel at the flash, we are often humbled by the thunder, and we are rightfully fearful when the showers become torrents. Yet through the pandemonium of it all, we know we will emerge out of it into a new season of shorter days, cooler weather, and the richness of Thanksgiving and the joys of Christmas. So we, those of us in the Warehouse, wait for the flash, rumble, and torrents to pass and trust that somewhere beyond this time lies a great feast and the joy of Jesus.

In the morning, LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly (Psalm 5:3 tniv).

In the morning, Lord!