The Fall

The last time I stopped by to say hello, outside my window there were brightly colored leaves.

Now I sit looking out the window at near-bare trees with sprinkles of dead brown just hanging on for dear life, waiting, it seems, holding their breath, almost, until the wind picks them up and carries them home.

And I sit here thinking, well isn't that just what we do?

We bud, we bloom, we blossom into green.  We absorb the rain, reject the sun.  We change, slowly, slowly, to new hues.  To red, to orange, to yellow.  We grow tired and decay.  And then we hang on, trembling, brown, to the tiniest of branches, until we

fall.

Until we blow away.

Isn't that just what we are?

Brown shaking leaves on brown decaying trees, drifting, one after another, to the earth.

What's the beauty in that, you might ask?

What's the beauty in holding on?  What's the beauty in falling?

I think the beauty is not in the new green of spring, or the steady vibrancy of summer, or the brash rebellion of autumn.  The beauty is in those fading days of fall, when the night gets darker and the sky grayer.  It's in the barren months of winter, when the once fully-clothed trees are but skeletons.  It's in the hope of another season, of new life and new rain and brighter sunshine.

Because as we hang on, dead leaves on gray twigs, God is whispering to us that we needn't be afraid to fall.
Because, He, who knows so much more than what we understand, promises to make us new.  Promises that His mercies are new every morning.  Promises that this life and all its troubles, will pass away.  And promises a new life for all those that trust Him enough to

fall.