Over the last several weeks I have mentioned how much I love Autumn, and that this season is my favorite. It has only been the last couple of days, though, that I realized my favorite aspect of Fall is centered around death.
Now, this is an odd musing, but one at least worth an ounce of consideration… When you think about the changing colors of the maple leaves anticipating the winter chill, you will realize that it is only possible through dying. When the valley is awash with branches full of tangible sunlight glowing red and orange and yellow, it is because the once vibrantly green leaves are being starved.
All Spring and throughout the Summer they have enjoyed the sweetness of nourishment from their tree. But they are now being cut off so that the tree can store energy for the winter, anticipating breathing life into new leaves when Spring descends once again.
Yet in their death, there is a static beauty in the sunset leaves. Even as they break off from the branch, their grip on the tree weakened by the wind, their deathly descent is a gorgeous ballet. As they rest on the ground, shouting a satisfying crunch as I walk through their piles, they offer one of the most cheerful sounds of the season. And then, as they decay and rot, their essence is taken once again into the ground, transferring their life into the soil which will bring forth new sprigs and shoots of wondrous nature in only a few months’ time.
And perhaps that’s me. Cozied up to my comfortable tree of convenience, lazily drinking in the ease. Not many people take notice, because I am just another green leaf, surrounded by other green leaves, drowned out by the cacophony of verdant growth. And yet, when my convenience is stripped away I begin to change. I am transformed from a stagnant living thing, into a dying masterpiece.
And that is when others take notice. My metamorphosis sings in a chorus of other transformed lives, pleading with the passerby to heed the stunning call of the season. It is only my comfort which is steeped away, mearly my convenience that has loosed me. And yet even as every easy thing is drained from me, my purpose is hardly finished. For in my death to comfort, there is hope of joy, and in my resting release, my continued transformation will assist in bringing more life. May I live well, and in every stage of my Creator’s Good Plan may I trust His will, trust His heart, and rejoice in His plan.
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