I walk a few blocks to the Route 7 bus stop. On that walk, I pass under a massive maple tree whose edges have started to turn the promising yellow, orange and red of fall. It's a signal of what is to come, and it begins like the blush of a shy virgin preparing to join with her first love. Before long, this modest blush turns into a raging, passionate flame of a tree, whose perfectly falling leaves are like the virgin throwing off her clothes, readying for the passion to come.
I couldn't resist picking up a leaf yesterday, it was so perfect: each single vein visible in highlighted red against the fading orange and yellow that had once been green. So beautiful. So perfectly fallen. Holding it's flawless majesty in the palm of my hand, I caught sight of divinity:
Like the perfectly fallen leaf, whose fall must precede the interlude with winter, whose death and decay will create compost for the new season of growth, so too must we each experience fall - the opening gambit in the cycle of renewal
In our fallen state, though we may feel ugly, failed, exhausted, worn out - we are still the beautiful children of God.
From our fallen state, God picks us up and holds us in the palm of His hand - a loving father still able to see the perfection of design and purpose in each and every one of us.
The God of my understanding suffers from an obsessive compulsive condition that knows no season; it's name is Grace.
