Parsonage Letter (Four O’Clock Flower Story, Part Five)

© Wanhee Yoon, 2001

This autumn, my soul becomes a bird,
Soaring across mountains and fields.
How marvelous are the works of God!
Ridges and meadows, rivers and valleys
overflow with the feast of blessings—
a festival of radiant colors,
waves of peace, and firebursts of love.

I hear the rustling hem of the Lord’s robe
brushing over ridges and reeds by the sea.
The reed leaves sing in praise,
wild chrysanthemums dance in fragrant delight,
and every valley resounds:
“Holy! Holy! Holy is the work of the Lord!”

O Lord, behold!
Through morning, noon, evening, and night
all creation bows before You.
The fruits You have ripened all year long—
by sunshine, gentle rain,
pure dew, thunder, and lightning—
now hang heavy on branches,
singing a chorus of thanksgiving.
In the crisp sweetness of a ripe persimmon,
in the bursting juice of the grape,
I hear Your whispered confession of love.
What is man, O Lord,
that You crown him with such steadfast,
tender, fragrant love?

Beautiful Lord, these days I see only You.
In the swan gliding over frosted waters at dawn,
I glimpse Your grace.
In the bright smile of cosmos flowers,
I behold Your purity.
In the scampering steps of squirrels
through fallen leaves,
I find Your cheerfulness.
In towering clouds rising in the sky,
I perceive Your mercy.
In golden ears of corn awaiting harvest,
I sense Your abundance.
And in the wind scattering leaves,
I feel Your hand.

Almighty Lord,
even as the sun sinks in crimson glow,
I am not sad—
for You are nearer than ever.
Even walking through drenching autumn rain,
I am not lonely—
for Your grace fills me wholly.

My King, my Lord!
When tears fall upon fallen leaves,
they are not tears of regret for days lost,
but tears of awe and joy
before Your covenant.
In weakness, I stretch out my arms
and weep with gladness.

Lord, though I wasted time in laziness,
fear, and vanity,
before I could even ask forgiveness,
You forgave me,
and welcomed me back.
Ashamed, I wipe my tears,
yet again I turn toward You.

My God, my Father!
Amid the flaming colors of autumn hills,
I recall Moses at the burning bush.
You are always fire,
always light.
Not a fire that consumes,
but a fire that gives life.
Speak, Lord!
Reveal to me the secret of Your heart this autumn.
This frail soul bows trembling
before Your burning love.

Word made flesh,
Light of life—
come into the deepest place within me.
Come into the barren, cold ground of my heart.
Though Your storehouses overflow with love,
my own love remains so small, so unripe.
Even now, Your heart burns
with a grieving mother in Rwanda,
with the hungry children of Somalia.
But my heart is still pale and immature.
Forgive me, Lord, I confess.

O Lord, You do not leave even fallen leaves
to decay unseen.
You scatter and gather them,
tending them until they return to earth.
You guard the lonely nests in high bare branches,
You feed the wild beasts,
and like a reed You will not break,
You bear patiently even my pride and weakness
until they ripen in Your mercy.

Lord, grant me grace
to endure the trials of this year.
Shine upon my darkness
with the starlight of life,
and let every fruit bear the seed of the future.
I thank You.

This autumn, under falling leaves,
I lay down the many shells of my soul.
Stripped bare,
I long to resemble the silent tree
that enters winter faithfully
for the sake of another holy promise.

O my Lord!
This autumn sanctuary of hills and fields
is clothed with unspeakable beauty.
You, who delight in giving
the most beautiful, the most abundant,
the most precious things to humankind—
receive this hymn of life!
Amen.