For me, fall is such a peculiar time —the sweet spot between my beloved summers and dreaded winters. My family has an ongoing joke that one fall, we’ll finally move someplace warmer and sunnier. October and November always bring that conversation back.
But autumn and winter aren’t just for dreaming of sunshine. For our family, these months are a reminder of how much our lives have changed since we moved to the States.
In October 2016, my mom and little brother landed in Tacoma, Washington—a moment 16 years in the making. We had been living as asylum seekers in Uganda since 2000, holding onto hope for a new life. Over the last two decades, so much has changed, including my little brother—who is now a 5’11, 20-something young man! In January 2017, after countless prayers and letters of support from our Lutheran church companions, the rest of our family reunited in the U.S. Thanks to Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service (now Global Refuge) and Lutheran Community Services, we were finally together again.
I wish I could say that life became easy after that, but it did not. Adjusting to a new country meant navigating political tensions, racism and economic struggles. As first-time Americans, we stumbled and fought our way through. At one point, I juggled three jobs. We have had such weird and wonderful moments. I’ll never forget seeing snow for the first time—magical, but ridiculously cold! Our first Christmas was bittersweet. As we lit the tree in our new home, we felt an emptiness, being so far away from everything we’d known. Seattle’s gloom hit hard that first year, especially since we didn’t know that vitamin D deficiency can be a concern for people of color.
But spring came with a burst of colors. I’ll always remember my mom’s joy during our first trip to Tacoma’s Point Defiance Rose Garden. Then there was summer—warm, sunny and alive. I started to fall in love with the Pacific Northwest, though I still carried a cardigan everywhere. Before I knew it, October rolled back around, and just like that, our first year was over.
The cycle of seasons, emotions and adjustments felt endless at first. I developed a love-hate relationship with the changing seasons. Every fall, as the colder months set in, I brace myself for winter, often dreaming of Arizona. Yet this year, I feel oddly thankful for the cold. The cold gives me permission to slow down, sit with discomfort and start gearing up for whatever I will need for myself and my community to walk through the next year.
As I look out my window at the nearly bare dogwood tree, I feel grateful. Sitting in this cold, dark season, I trust that God is doing something out of the ordinary, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Soon enough, spring will come, bursting with color, and life will stir again.
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11, NIV)
The Rev. Emillie Binja, Congolese by birth and raised in Uganda as a refugee, has lived in the U.S. since 2017. She serves as pastor of Creator Lutheran Church in Clackamas, Oregon. She loves summers, dreads winters and cherishes storytelling.
This article appears in the September/October/November 2025 issue of Gather. To read more like it, subscribe to Gather.