This post first appeared a year ago – a favorite of my readers. I post it again, hoping you will receive twice the enjoyment.
A year ago, I happened to be on the deck as a tree unloaded its entire leaf burden. It was as if God said, “It’s 3:24 on the date I created. Disengage.”
Within seconds, every leaf had let loose from its moorings and the tree stood naked in the autumn wind.
Since then, I have made more of an effort to watch the autumn leaves fall.
Some of them let loose to fall quickly and suddenly – as if they have given up on ever becoming anything more than a falling leaf. Done. Hit the ground. Boom.
Other leaves are more graceful in their descent, twisting and turning as they spiral downward, then find a spot of yet-green grass to slide to a landing.
But my favorites are the leaves that dance as if floating toward a purpose, the mulching of the ground, the photosynthesis of time.
These are the leaves that catch a final wisp of Kansas wind and turn upward for a moment, then pirouette in different directions, exposing their golden undersides to the rhythms of autumn.
These are the leaves that take my breath away as they meander across space and take their time letting gravity win.
The analogy of the autumn dance signals that even when nature introduces another winter – the rhythms of life continue.
Day and night. Seasons of life. Winter follows autumn but also promises spring.
I want to be most like the meandering leaves and take my time enjoying the process of aging, the transitions of life that come to all of us.
Somehow, I want to find the cadence of trust that allows my soul to float without worry, to sing in harmony with a greater purpose.
Maybe I can best mimic these graceful leaves by paying more attention to the way nature forms them – like veined boats that gather morning dew and shadow us during summer’s heat.
The reds and golds and oranges of the autumn dance remind me how God colors our world with various shades of skin to remind us all are beautiful – different yes – but glorious in our uniqueness.
And just as God programs each tree in its autumn leaving, he also engages within the seasons of my life.
He knows that exact moment when I will let go and dance toward a greater purpose – when the questions will be answered and the direction clear.
Gratefully, in his arms – I will segue from dance to eternity.
But unlike the leaves, I will fall upward.
©2017 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved