The colors of grace

I don't know how you feel about fall. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to tell you how I feel about this season. To give you some context, we have a white birch tree right outside our front door. And as I look out my window, there’s a moment every late September that I think, “What a beautiful sight.” Along with that birch, the dozens of trees in the neighborhood are painted in those breathtaking shades of red, gold, and orange. The sunlight dances through the branches, and everything looks like a postcard from one of those landscape photographers that make us gasp with beauty. Then about five seconds later, reality hits: those leaves are all going to end up in my yard. Do you feel me?

 

Autumn has a way of humbling us. We go from admiring the trees to muttering at them under our breath. We wonder why they couldn’t be pine trees or at least hold on a little longer. I don’t mind raking…the first time. You know, the crunch of leaves underfoot and the cool air actually is pleasant. I like the smell of woodsmoke drifting from someone’s fire pit down the street. But by the fifth round of leaves, I start questioning my theology of trees.

 

As I ponder these things, I imagine there must be a life lesson somewhere between the first and the fifth pile of leaves. The first time I rake, I think, “this is sacred. Look what God made beautiful.” The fifth time, well, it’s more like, “Lord, are You sure You meant for this to happen every year?”

 

But then again, maybe that’s what God intended to teach us about Autumn. Maybe it was meant to remind us that beauty and mess often go hand in hand. The same trees that fill the trees with beauty also fill our yards with work. The same changing seasons that remind us of God’s beauty also test our patience and the efficacy of extra-strength Tylenol. And yet, through it all, there’s something deeply spiritual about it—something that whispers, “To see the beauty in change is to know the beauty of grace.” 

 

Is it possible that God intended for us to see our spiritual life through the lens of the seasons of earth. There’s spring, when everything feels new and full of promise. Then there’s summer, when things are warm and growing strong. We can’t forget winter, when we hold on and long for better days. And then there’s fall—the in-between season, when we know beauty, but we also know what’s coming soon.

 

The truth is that fall is beautiful…and discouraging. We must remember, though, leaves die so that the tree can rest and prepare for spring. The season when everything is remade new. Could it be, in a similar way, God lets parts of our lives fall away—not because He’s done with us, but because He’s getting us ready for what’s next? It’s not always comfortable, but it’s necessary, so that God can accomplish His good, pleasing, and perfect will in us.

 

Someone once said to me, “The older I get, the faster life seems to go.” Is that true or what? And while it does seem like time is speeding up, this person continued to say, “I appreciate the seasons because they remind me that nothing in life stays the same.” As I write this, I wonder if this is why I autumn has always been my favorite—it’s honest. It doesn’t pretend to last forever...it’s a passing glory, one last burst of color before the drab and hardship of winter. Maybe fall is meant to be that gentle reminder that change isn’t the enemy; it’s part of God’s beautiful plan for His children.

 

As much as I know all these things to be true, I hate to admit I’ve had my moments with the rake in hand. Just as I finish raking, a strong gust of wind comes and there are dozens of freshly fallen leaves where I just finished raking. But even that small frustration carries a lesson. Every leaf I rake reminds me that I’m not in control. Gasp! I know. Maybe you need to say that with me. I’m not in control.

 

Nature doesn’t wait for my convenience, and God doesn’t always work on my timeline.. Is that hard for you to swallow? I had to clear the lump in my throat as I typed that last sentence. That’s a hard truth for most of us—especially in a world where everything moves at the speed of convenience. Do you wish you could schedule the seasons? Kind of like our DVR: start and stop, pause, maybe rewind or fast forward a little. We know that’s not how it works though. We can’t have the autumn colors without the yard work, blessings without the waiting, faith without the difficulty. But God, in His wisdom, often works at the pace like that of the seasons. He’s not in a hurry…so maybe we shouldn’t be either.

 

So maybe this fall, what would happen if we were to see those falling leaves as an invitation, and not a nuisance? What would it be like if each one reminds us that God often works in cycles—life, death, renewal? What if we were to actually believe that He’s not finished with us yet? What would happen if we looked at each leaf that falls is a quiet sermon: “Let go. Trust Me. I’m preparing new life for you”?

 

And when you’re out there with your rake, grumbling under your breath and wondering how much a new chainsaw costs, take a moment. And look up. Notice the sunlight flickering through the branches. Feel the crisp air. Listen to God as He prepares the earth for a season. This is the sound of God’s creation doing what it was made to do—changing, letting go, making room for what’s next. Take in the colors of fall. These colorful leaves are a reminder of the colors of grace. 

 

Now, just before I go, I can’t promise your yard will stay clean. In fact, I can promise it won’t. But maybe your soul will feel a little brighter, a little warmer. Maybe you’ll remember that even in the hardest seasons, God is quietly at work—raking, redeeming, renewing, and ultimately remaking.

 

And if all else fails, just wait until the wind picks up. Grace has a way of blowing through when you least expect it. And then when your neighbor gets a little angry, feel free to pass this on to them. They’ll thank you for it!