november
November is my month. Of joy, of waiting with bated breath, of poignant pity, and of fulfillment. Yet it has not been without the serenity, calm and quiet that is “november”. It has been the cool nights after heavy rains of the monsoon, of real; and the autumnal colours, and fall breezes of imagination. It is now the pretty copperish golden red leaves, fall showers from cloudy skies that are of real; and the warmth of tropical humidity of imagination.But it is still November, November, November, that I love!
Love, is for the most wonderful couple, the ones I’ve been contrary to for so long, knowing all the while how much wiser they are than I for both age and experience. I wonder if they remember a November of nineteen years ago as a miracle, I hope they do! They taught and rooted me in the faith, but for which I would float away on clouds of vanity, all is meaningless. It is they who love me unconditionally, and for that and so much more I love my parents.
Love, is for three dearest girls, who will keep my childhood alive for life. There’s so much shared and so much I will miss this November, each flood of long emails and letters and giggles over the phone are cherished drop by drop. For all the annoyance and irritation and bickering, you weigh all the pure happiness and fun and inexpressible joy of being part of four sisters, and I know I will love them till we’re all old and achy. And only three of them will know what dream-sweet-night-good di-bov-ry-air truly truly means.
Love, is for the dearest boy in the world, and his steadfastness against my uncertainty. For a pair of frozen blueberries, a tuft of silver, a promise broken and a promise kept, I could have wept an ocean and bled a heart. But because he was there and is here, and because it is November and he holds my hand and carries my heart, I love again, smile again and bravely endeavour to shine like a star in the universe, because he does.
Yet in my month of love, I know, I know that Love was not of cupid or him or I, but of Him who is the Lily of the Valley, the Bright and Morning Star, who loved me more than anyone could ever love. So it is this November, that a little heart of great expectancy heads for Sunbury, it is this November, that a little heart longs to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, that Love that surpasses all human knowledge.
For it is He who is able to do immeasurably more, exceedingly, abundantly, above all we could ask or imagine, He shall lead me, unworthy though I am, back to the paths of righteousness, the green pastures, the quiet waters, this November.
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