October

That's the best title I could muster.

Hi Friends,

When I started our new posting schedule back in August 2023, I planned to share one general essay on the fourth Tuesday of each month - meaning I’d usually write it on the third Tuesday of that month.

Well, since I made that new schedule - I’ve written a new book, started a new pastoral call, and started a new role as a community columnist at the Minnesota Star Tribune. Part of my new pastoral role means that on the third Tuesday of each month, which I’d planned as this Substack writing day, I’m instead leading a worship service and preaching at our monthly worship service at a senior living cooperative connected to the church (Hi, Nokomis Square!)

When my new schedule first started, I thought I’d adjust by moving my writing day to the third Wednesday. But I’d neglected to leave that space empty when I made pre-arrangements for this fall, with lots of speaking engagements and evening activities on the third Wednesday of the month.

And now we arrive to the glorious month of October. Don’t worry, the third Tuesday of this month is just … middle school conferences, my son Josh’s ninth birthday(!), Nokomis Square worship, an important phone call with my literary agent, picking up Josh from school for lunch … and getting everything ready to head up North, because our school district is off from school the rest of the week.

Fall in Minneapolis ^^ (not to be confused with that propaganda film, The Fall of Minneapolis!) This is one of those instances where the photographs actually don’t do the beauty of these trees justice.

You gotta go outside and stand there and see them with your own eyes.

I share all this not to be all woe is me, because the truth is that this exact combination of work and family and writing and ministry is the very thing I’ve been striving for, for so many years, since leaving full-time ministry in Southern California and moving back to Minnesota in 2017. And even so, I notice within myself this resistance to change even when circumstances change. I submit myself with dogged persistence to the schedule I’ve self-imposed, even when it doesn’t seem beneficial to me or to anyone else. I pride myself on keeping commitments. But when I’m not merciful to myself, I notice how little patience I have for everyone else, too.

On those busy days - the long ones that begin with your child coming into your room for a middle-of-the-night wakeup at 3:30 a.m. with all the lights on … when I just can’t find a way to give myself grace, I find myself extra exasperated with other drivers on the road. I’m short-tempered with my spouse, I’m overly and unfairly self-critical and anxious. (Less than 6 hours of sleep is always a recipe for disaster, I find).

All this - in the midst of an upcoming election that is threatening to give me an ulcer, with all the ways it demonstrates how deep America’s sexism and racism runs, that while we have a Republican candidate incapacitated by age, hatred, greed, corruption, criminality, and Christian Nationalism - this race seems to get closer and closer every single day, with every weird antic Trump and Vance pull out, like just last week Vance visiting Minneapolis for a few hours only to warn that it’s a “city in decline” and “story of Minneapolis is coming for every American city” if his ticket doesn’t win.

(For what it’s worth, we had Josh’s 9th birthday party at our city park in Minneapolis this past weekend, and it was absolutely lovely. I don’t go on rants about your city or state, so please don’t do so about mine).

There’s something to love truly everywhere in America, and everywhere in the world - and everywhere people call home).

Let’s tell those stories, and stop insulting one another.

And then Trump decided to forever taint some great pieces of music, like Andrea Bocelli’s Time to Say Goodbye, which used to remind me of a really special family trip - and now just reminds me of a time when so much of America was so transfixed by Trump that they’d ignore any demonstration of incompetence or danger, and just keep watching him stand and sway and promise to end democracy … and somehow they think it’s fun? Or funny?

But anyway, yeah, I’m doing great!

Truly though, tonight is also one of those autumn evenings in Minnesota when the light hits the trees just right, and there’s a golden hue hanging in the leaves. Every year it seems harder and harder for these magical fall colors to break through. We have a few trees in our neighborhood, I think they’re called sunset maples, that absolutely EXPLODE into bright hues of red, orange, and hot pink this time of year. Every time you see it you can’t really think about anything else, which is really important in a fall like this one. But every year those sunset maples seem to get caught more and more by the bizarrely warm Septembers we’ve been having lately. So that some of the trees end up shedding their leaves prematurely, and others remain bright green almost to November.

This year one of my favorite sunset maples lost the tops of its leaves, leaving its brown branches bare, even as most of its surrounding trees remained bright green. The tree’s lower leaves are still brilliant and shining, but it’s an uneven display.

Even the trees are unbalanced and out-of-sorts this October.

The natural world too seems to hang in the balance, and yes, I know how vacuous it is to complain about fall colors when people in North Carolina, and Florida, and Georgia, are still digging out from the damage of Hurricanes Helene and Milton, and people across the West remain on guard for fire season.

And children die and live in war zones in Ukraine, Israel, Gaza, Lebanon, Sudan, Myanmar … the list just keeps getting longer.

And still the seasons rotate on. We have to find beauty where we can, stop and take it in, breathe it out. Cough, sneeze, blow your nose - because with all that beauty comes allergens and wind and sinus pressure.

That’s life, I guess. And when I see it - and when I think of you reading these words, anyway, week in and week out - from October to October - I sure am glad to be alive and a part of this glorious creation, wounds and pain and the way we keep trying to destroy each other, and all. I still believe in trees, and you.

Thanks for reading,

Angela

P.S. …

A Few Notes:

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