November

“It was November- the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.”

Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery

November. To me. Is more deep, sad hymns than passionate wind-songs in the pines.

For so long, something shifted for me in November. I never knew quite what it was. But the joy and beauty I saw in September and October diminished in November.

But this year. This year is different.

November 1st would have been my Grandma’s 102 birthday. And for the last 10 years I have missed her so much.

She passed away 3 days after her 91st birthday.

Those last handful of years, she didn’t remember who we were. Her mind wiped clean and twisted by an awful disease that stole her memories and, eventually, speech and ability to eat. So when she was gone, her own parting bird, an hour before we could get to the nursing home, we praised the Lord that she was home and restored and dancing with her Jesus.

A few weeks ago. I was cooking. Actually, frying a steak in a pan on the stove. I had never done this before. Never cooked a steak, let alone on the stove. A few weeks before, after bbqing hamburgers, another thing I rarely do, I forgot to turn off the the propane. So we were out of propane. Hence, frying a steak in the pan on the stove.

As I flipped the steak over, a memory flashed in my head; and I was transported back to my Grandma’s kitchen. Small and L-shaped. Dark wood cabinets.

And I saw my Grandma. Standing over the stove. Frying steak. In a pan. Smiling. Laughing. And as quickly as I was there in my memory, I was back in my own kitchen. Smiling. With tears in my eyes. Happy tears. Remembering my Grandma. And all she passed down to me. Brown hair and eyes. My cheekbones and jawline. My spiritual heritage. Family recipes.

And next month, I will bake in my kitchen. With my kids. My Grandma’s Angel Food Cookies. Because that is our family tradition. Passed down from my Grandma. Our Christmas cookies.

And this November. It’s not the sad hymns of the sea I hear. But the passionate wind-songs in the pines. Wind-songs of joy and memories and peace. Unlike I have ever known. And the crimson sunsets. They are more beautiful and vibrant than ever before.

So I welcome November.