November

My birthday is in the fall - as is my mother's. She will be 82 this November 1st. Her winter has arrived and she hasn't any more seasons to look forward to. The Hospice nurses comfort her as well as they can but she is restless and unhappy. "Why am I still living when all the joy is gone. Why do some people slip effortlessly away and I stuggle each day in pain?"

In one of his hymns, Isaac Watts penned this poignant line: "Time, like an ever-rolling stream, bears all its sons away; they fly, forgotten, as a dream dies at the op'ning day." The significant people, times and places of the seasons of our lives come and go, leaving only memories—until time bears even those away.

I assure my mother that she will be remembered - and the memories of places she loved and the home she built for us will be passed on to grandchildren and great grandchildren.

The writer of Ecclesiastes is right: each season and purpose of life has its proper place in God's grand scheme. Sometimes we just don't understand the grand scheme.