The Autumn Tree
In Berrien Springs this week, I watched the trees change from confident green, to whispers of color, to bold splashes of yellows, oranges, and reds. Autumn progresses quickly and extravagantly here, so today I stopped to pay attention. I walked down to the river, through a forest of trees that seemed to have mixed feelings about Fall. Some were shy and green, while others enthusiastically produced their new colors. The river, wide and slow and smooth, reflected the highlighted trees on the opposite side like a perfect painting. They stood brightly in the morning light, against the deep blue sky. As I watched this revelation of the dawning season, another revelation dawned in my heart. Fall often reminds me of surrender. Each leaf that changes and falls must surrender itself, let go of its branch, and fall into the arms of the freezing winds. But today I thought about the way the tree must surrender so much. The tree must let go of each leaf, each sign of life, one at a time--surrendering them all to the freezing winds. At last, it is bare and exposed, nothing to hide or protect the rough branches. It must simply wait, through harsh winter storms, with only the hope of Spring. And one day, Spring does arrive, with its blessings of blossoms and foliage, rewarding each tree. And the tree is only able to accept these gifts of new growth because it was willing to surrender and endure the waiting of the previous seasons.


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