As I stood on my deck, a tree unloaded its entire leaf burden. It was as if God said, “It’s now 3:24 on this date I created. Disengage.”
Since then, I have made more of an effort to watch how the autumn leaves fall. Some of them let loose to plummet quickly — 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 still-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 — to 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, golds and oranges of the autumn dance remind me how God colors our world with various shades of skin. He reminds us all are beautiful — different yes, but glorious in our uniqueness.
Then just as God programs each tree in its autumn leaving, he also engages within the seasons of our lives.
He knows that exact moment when we will let go and dance toward a greater purpose, when the questions will be answered and the direction clear.
Gratefully, in his arms we will segue from dance to eternity. From hanging on to hope.
But unlike the leaves, we will fall upward.
©2019 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved
The above post has been a fan favorite, so I include it each year. For more of my writings, check out my Amazon Author Page.