Blueberry Hills

Last Sunday, I went out to breakfast at a restaurant called "Blueberry Hills," found on a quiet backroad of Manson, Wa.
Inside the farmhouse restaurant, the smell of dried lavendar and fresh-baked things filled the air, accompanied by happy chatter of tourists sharing their favorite stories of the weekend's travels and the clanging of pots and pans.
There were no tables left inside, but plenty out on the patio overlooking the orchards turning in for the fall. It was raining, but there was a heater to sit next to and a hot cup to hold.
As I waited for my meal, I sat studying the autumn leaves and thinking about the mystery of change. In the Northwest, one October day the landscape will be lush and green, the next day it will be on fire. Almost without warning then, you can wake up and the leaves will have fallen to the ground to reveal an undressed horizon that's been all but forgotten.
Change in the fall is both certain and surprising. It's certain change will come, but when, where and what it will be like when it happens isn't for us to know until it really does. October change is a mystery.
I thought about changes going on in my life and the lives of my friends and family. Certain and surprising, like October.
I ate my breakfast and paid.
As I walked out the door, a walking stone caught my eye and I stopped to read the message carved in it: "Wherever you go, go there with all your heart."
The message collided with my thoughts about change and brought tears to my eyes. It prompted me to pray for the changes taking place in my life and the lives of all those I care about, desiring that each one of us would be empowered to go wherever it is we're going, and to go there with all our hearts.

Then I walked away, saying goodbye for today to Blueberry Hills.