September: a season of anticipation
 

Liz Stone, Parochial Church Council Team, All Saints Church, Belton

September always makes me nostalgic. The leaves sweeping underfoot, the sharp chill of early mornings that mellow into sunshine by midday, the satisfying crunch of acorns scattered across the school field. My mind slips easily back to childhood: cold walks to school, rucksack straps digging into my shoulders, and that flutter of anticipation in my chest for the start of a new year
Back then, September smelled of new shoes and fresh exercise books. It was the season of sharpened pencils and shiny lunchboxes, of wondering who you’d sit next to and whether the teacher would be strict. September carried the thrill of new beginnings — clean slates wrapped in autumn air

Even now, the season still stirs the same anticipation, but now it’s mixed with something else: anxiety. Not for me, but for my children. September belongs to them now. The excitement of a new term has shifted from my world to theirs — and I carry the waiting, the watching, the hoping

Of course, it was different when we were at school. There were no mobile phones, no family apps, no digital bus timetables glowing in our pockets. Our parents couldn’t track our every movement. We had long walks in the rain, forgotten homework, missed buses, and the less than occasional detour to the sweet shop. The anxieties were different then — smaller in some ways, sharper in others — but nothing like the constant low-level hum of worry that technology both feeds and soothes for parents today

Most afternoons, I open the family app and watch the little dot that tells me where my eldest is. I see it move faster as he rides the bus home, then creeping closer as he walks the last stretch. I flick between cooking dinner and glancing at the screen, checking again and again as if my watching could make him come quicker. Every so often I peek through the curtains, half-hoping to catch sight of him turning the corner of the road. It’s only when I finally see him there that I feel the knot in my chest loosen and I can breathe properly again

It’s in those moments I think of the father in Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son. When I was younger, I focused on the son — the rebellion, the homecoming, the celebration. But now, as a parent, I find myself caught by the father’s side of the story. The endless waiting. The horizon-watching. The ache of love that keeps you hoping for a glimpse. I understand him better these days. Love makes us watch. Love makes us wait

And September is a season of waiting too. Nature itself is shifting. Trees let go of their leaves in a final blaze of gold, as if to remind us that beauty can be found even in the act of surrender. There’s always a sadness in it — a reminder that nothing stays the same forever. Children grow. Routines shift. Life turns a page

The writer of Ecclesiastes puts it like this: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” A time for holding hands, and a time for letting go. A time for walking with them to the classroom door, and a time for pretending not to when they roll their eyes. A time for watching the bus inch across a map, and a time for trusting they’ll be just fine without your hovering

But it’s not just about letting go of our children. Sometimes, it’s about letting go of ourselves. Our need for control. Our desperate clutch on certainty. Our plans and expectations of how life should look. Like the trees surrendering their leaves, we too are called to release what we hold tightly — so that God has space to move. Letting go is rarely easy, but it makes room for grace

So September remains for me what it always was: a season of anticipation. The difference is, now it carries both nostalgia and hope. As I crunch through leaves, check the family app, and sneak glances through the curtains for the first sight of my son at the corner of the road, I’m reminded that each season has its beauty. Autumn whispers that letting go is part of love. Parenting shows me that waiting can be sacred. And faith assures me that God is with us in every change — in the chill of morning, in the warmth of afternoon, and in that longed-for moment when the ones we love come home