I know a man who can't pronounce October properly. I know he went to school, around the same time as I did and even then he couldn't say it properly, though I didn't have the heart to tell him and haven't got round to rectifying the situation forty years later. So when I hear him talk refer to the tenth month of the year as Obtober, I just have a little smile inside, though he never knows. Funny but the same guy can't pronounce puncture either and in the relatively few instances when he and I have discussed flat tyres he tends to talk about having a pumpture, and I can see where he's coming from, for there is a definite relationship between a pump and a flat wheel. Anyway the guy's nearly fifty now and as he has made it this far without total command of the English language, I reckon he'll get by without my intervention. It reminds me of another man, much closer to my dad's age,who often came to visit us on Sunday evenings and would regularly utter a myriad of mispronunciations that would send dad into raptures of laughter, though our guest always thought he was just enjoying the story he was telling. He would often talk about linoleum on the floor as melodion and when a special speaker called Richard Wurmbrand came to preach at our church shortly after his release form a Russian prison, our good friend referred to him as Mr Woodworm!
But, no matter how you pronounce it, October is still a bit special in our house. Our first son came into this world in October, somewhere around about six thirty on the morning of the fourteenth when most people were either still in bed or just preparing for the birth of a new day. We hadn't planned it for the tenth month and at the time it seemed just a little inconvenient, having moved into our new house only a few weeks previously. But all that seemed unimportant when the young sprog appeared to brighten up a nice autumn morning and also the following few months of sleepless nights during which I was able to watch 'The Guns of Navarone' all the way through for the first time, though normally I wouldn't have chosen to view it at three o'clock in the morning. As some sort of remembrance ritual, I recently sat down and watched it all again, for only the second time, some twenty years later and it was just as good, probably because I had forgotten the whole story in the intervening period! October is also the month dad died, just nearly four years ago now. I always remember it because we 'celebrated' youngest son's eighteenth birthday the day after the funeral. It didn't seem much like a celebration at the time but I guess dad was the sort of character who would have told us to 'stop the crying' and get with it. Still it wasn't easy to do and the thing is, even though he had almost reached ninety and was in clearly failing health, I never really expected him to leave so quickly. But at least he got to make his last journey along the lane where he had lived all his life, in beautiful sunshine. A year later in the same month we still wouldn't be celebrating as mum was diagnosed with terminal illness that would claim her life long before the following October, by which time my father in law would be reaching the latter stages of his losing battle with Alzheimer's. Yes, October has lots of memories, but even amidst the occasional clouds, God provides the sunshine, sometimes in the simple things, like a colourful autumn leaf fall or the last remnants of an apple harvest, or the breeze of a strong wind. I'm often reminded that as the dark evenings begin to envelop us with ever increasing speed and house lights appear glowing from late afternoon, that somewhere in the not too distant future, we will no longer be prisoners of the autumn and winter darkness as the light invades our lives and stays just that little bit longer each day.
And so it is with Jesus, who banishes the darkness that surrounds us, who comforts us when the clouds arrive and who promises us a bright future in His holy presence, regardless of the travails that we must endure on earth. Like the Psalmist, I can say 'You, O LORD, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.'
We have five deciduous trees on our lawn. When October took away their leaves last year, they looked dead to the uninitiated. As I gaze on them today, they sway in all their glory, a delightful collection of colours. When Jesus raised Lazarus, he said he was only sleeping, though everyone knew he had died. But through the resurrection power of God, he was raised to life and so we shall be at the last day if our faith had been in the Son of the Most High and we have asked Him to be our Saviour. And it really doesn't matter if I'm not eloquent with words for my heavenly Father knows what I mean.
