Ode to September

Kindling hope for the rest of the year.

September, O September,

As you arrive, I declare you will be a month to remember.

A time to simmer, savor, and breathe deeply of the season’s change.

September—

Is a great month for resurrection.

I hear whispers of divine breath blowing, moving, forming, and guiding.

The thrill of dead bones rising.

The melodies of promise break through the stillness,

And glorious songs awakening from the silence.

September—

Is speaking redemptive power.

The roar of restoration is ushered in, and beauty is being unveiled from the ashes.

The sweetness of Love’s fragrance hangs thick in the air.

He is the canopy, the covering for those things that bore no fruit in Spring—

For the dreams that found no advent in Summer.

September—

Though life jogged on, stirring and strong,

What was fragile within has become fortified.

Though we didn't know it

What didn't happen—

In the very place where the dream felt dissolved,

and the womb most tender,

In the waiting grew firm, and the dream more alive.

The pangs have begun—

To birth what has been carried for so long.

September—

You've been declared blessed!

You are the month that calls into remembrance the seed planted in the darkness, woven within the soil’s covering, and perhaps once thought dead, will now bear the long-awaited harvest.

September—

You are set with promise, offering opportunities, and bathed in holy anticipation.

You stand at the threshold of fulfillment, the precursor—prelude to the Lord’s divine will and plans for the rest of the year.

You quicken the groans to give way to glory,

travail to triumph,

and waiting to wonder.

September, O September,

God is in your midst.

“God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns.” Psalm 46:5.