The early trees are nodding ever so slightly toward autumn in the Historical District, as I approach my second year living smack in the heart of downtown Missoula, Montana, with its many deciduous trees promising amber, auburn, russet and crimson among other hues I love so much.

And with the High Holy Days on God’s calendar coming up before you know it (Rosh haShannah starts on the evening of October 2nd this year) I have harvest and celebration and reaping the fruit of the land on my mind, if not under my fingernails. The deer ate the entirety of the produce of my little backyard garden, having had unfettered access due to the downed fence between us and our neighbors. The old fence was no match for the freak, hurricane-level wind storm in July this year. The fence is rebuilt now, better than before and order is restored to my backyard, but already the neighborhood deer had found an early harvest.

I was struck with a thought this morning, as I sat outside in my backyard, chilled hands wrapped around hot coffee in my favorite mug that no one else is allowed to use. Ever. I surveyed the signs of fall in my little corner of the world, noting the crispness of the air on my skin, the loamy scent of earth reaching my nose, from the ground that has been nurturing my plants and trees, shrubs, vegetables and berries. I took in with my eyes and my heart the noticeable absence of those concord grapes I’d been counting on all summer long, from back when they heavily draped the ill-fated fence that I just spoke about.  The grapes survived the fallen fence to grow on to luscious maturity and the deer, not me, munched them, God bless, ‘em. Harvest time.

Isn’t it interesting how plants  and trees sprout up in the spring, not here one day, here the next?

Then they grow mightily in the summer, are harvested in the fall by God’s creatures (that’s us, too) or drop to the ground on their own, and then they enter the dormancy period of winter, to begin the cycle again next spring.

Last winter was the first time I looked at my own life-growth cycle in the way of trees and green things. I saw the beauty and orderliness of dormancy, of rest in God’s nature and I utilized its principles for my own life, including my spiritual life. I applied God’s cycles of nature: growth and rest, to silence the taunts of my inner critic that’s been telling me “Do more!”, “Keep up”, and “You should be doing this thing too, everyone one else can!” Taking my cue from how God brings His loving touch of order to Nature, I have God’s own permission to also be dormant at the times necessary in my own life.  

Being neurodivergent in a world not made for me, I absolutely cannot run with the same stride others seem to have and expect myself to flourish. I crash and burn from the pace of a productivity-driven culture much quicker than others do, although I suspect that we all would do well with less busyness. After socializing, or really, just being around the electricity of other people, even those I dearly love and want to be with, I need down time but I’d always felt “wrong” for pulling back. Is this you, as well? Dormancy. That winter last year was when I became intentional to not only embrace the summer cycle of growth/expansion that the plants thrive on, but to specifically avail myself to winter when it was called for.

I’m having a similar epiphany with autumn at the moment. Yes, I skipped over spring and summer and jumped from last winter to this year’s autumn. Let me explain why. By my very nature (and this is a personality thing, not an autistic thing) I am growth-oriented. You could call it perfectionism and you wouldn’t be wrong. I am a fixer (sometimes other people, but especially fixing myself), never content where I’m at, but always striving, striving, striving to reach an ideal I’ve set for myself. If only I reach that, then I’ll have worth.

Problem is, I keep upping the bar on myself and so I never “reach” it. Grow, grow, grow. You should see the orderly little book piles I have all over the house on various spiritual and character improvement themes. I am always looking to better myself. My focus of attention is on what’s wrong and what can be improved. You need me to spot the Waldo of what's wrong in a room, a situation or in myself or yourself, I'm your gal. I’ll probably always have this type of personality: the improver, though I hear it can be tempered with compassion. 

What *is* a neurodivergent thing with me is that I have the ability (which feels like an internal demand) to hyper focus on one thing (in this case, self-improvement) with laser precision and extended focus, to the exclusion of all other things. Think: perpetual summer. Plants and trees growing and growing and never stopping. (If that sounds cancerous, you'd be right!) But you don't have to be in a neurodivergent hyperfocus to get caught up here. I think the western culture does a pretty good job making it hard not to obsess on career, spiritual, or health growth. Endless summer. 

Funny enough, I’ve never been a summer girl. I hate the heat; the feel of sweat on my body (body temperature regulation issues) sends me into a rage that pounces on me like a stealthy lion in the Serengeti. The sun’s brightness batters my eyes and it registers as a physical threat to my body. The long summer nights bring less of my much needed structure and with it comes unasked-for extra opportunities to socialize. So yeah, summer isn’t my jam. And yet, my default position is the growth of incessant summer.  

But it’s autumn now, (the autumnal equinox arrived at 7:44 a.m. CT on Sunday, Sept. 22, according to the Old Farmer's Almanac) with its cooler days, and that back-to-school excitement I always loved as a kid. I craved the structure of a school day, the promise of new learning that the fall brought, complete with new backpack, pencils and notebooks. But what I’m focusing on this autumn is the harvest aspect of God’s good cycle of human spiritual and character growth.

So there I was on my back deck this morning thinking of harvest time and small town fall festivals and Biblical Fall Feast celebrations. I was gently nudged to ponder the harvest of human good works, which God also delights to celebrate with us, at its maturity.  That inner critic of mine is hard on me, rarely giving me room to celebrate the things grown out of my life with God, which are ripe and harvestable. But I am learning that being compassionate with myself also means that I can get excited over my spiritual fruit that is ripe. Did I handle *this* situation better than I did that last situation just like it? YES! Does what bothered me last year bother me less this year? YES! Can I acknowledge the fact that I reached a goal and celebrate that for a while before I move the bar a notch higher? YES!!!! Harvest the fruit! Bring it in and celebrate it and share it with others!  What can you harvest in your own life? What can you celebrate, before moving on to the next thing?

I don’t know why I haven’t habitually recognized my own good fruit, my own mature good works like I've habitually recognised where I need to grow more mature. I don’t know why I don’t pause at that harvest and marvel at its growth cycle like I do with plants and trees and friends’ harvested fruit of life. My guess is that I’ve been too preoccupied with growing, that I’ve been skipping the autumn of life, in pursuit of endless summer. But no more. This is my season to bring in the harvest with singing and dancing and celebration, so to speak, even if it’s just an inner recognition that “you did good there, Gail.” Just as the fall is my favorite season of them all, I suspect that in time, I’ll learn to love being my own cheerleader, basking in the goodness of the bounty that has been brought about by my partnership with God.  

And I believe that’s the key right there. When I remember that my life is a life cycle with God, I’ll be more apt to be intentional to live with all seasons of personal maturing. Including celebrating the end of a growth season, the maturing of the fruit of character. Let the harvest celebrating begin!

Blessings, 

Gail