There is a season

The parched trees in my yard are just beginning their kaleidoscope journey from green to yellow, and already I feel something stirring within me. I absolutely love the fall. It is the season of the year I most relish, the one that makes me feel the most alive.

It is a season of the senses. The heat breaks, and it's as if I can finally breathe. The crisp air brings a sense of excitement and joy, coupled with nostalgia and a longing.

My dear friend Emily is spending this fall in Uganda, and she recently shared the most lovely piece that I've reposted below. Such beautiful words. (Thanks for sharing, Hopper! We miss you.)

The Sacrament of Letting Go (From

Seasons of Your Heart: Prayers and Reflections

by Macrina Wiederkehr)

"That is why I am telling you not to worry about your life and what you are to eat, not about your body and what you wear. Surely life is more than food, and the body more than clothing! Look at the birds in the sky. They do not sow or reap or gather into barns; yet your heavenly father feeds them. Are you not worth so much more than they are?" - Matthew 6: 25-26

I worry too much. Autumn trees ask me not to worry. They, like Jesus, suggest trust rather than worry. So often in autumn I want to go and lean my head against a tree and ask what it feels like to lose so much, to be so empty, so detached, to take off one’s shoes that well, and then simply stand and wait for God’s refilling. It sounds so simple, so easy. It isn’t easy. But it’s possible.

I think I’ve met one person in my lifetime who was truly empty. I didn’t ask her what it felt like but I remember a quiet joy that seemed to permeate her spirit, and she looked free.

We autumn strugglers must try hard not to wear discouragement as a cloak if we can’t wear enough emptiness to make us free. It takes a long time to get as far as even wanting to be empty.

Our hearts are hungering for the Sacrament of Letting Go. Once we discover that we already possess enough grace to let go, trust begins to form in the center of who we are. Then we can take off our shoes and stand empty and vulnerable, eager to receive God’s next gift.

And let us pray for one another, for emptying is painful and the Body of Christ who we are calls us to support each other in this autumn effort. The Body of Christ also stands stripped, crucified, waiting for the new life that each of us can bring to it.

Slowly

she celebrated the sacrament of letting go

first she surrendered her green

then the orange, yellow, and red

finally she let go of her brown

shedding her last leaf

she stood empty and silent, stripped bare.

Leaning against the winter sky

she began her vigil of trust.

And Jesus said:

Why do you worry about clothes? Remember the flowers growing in the fields; they do not fret about what to wear; yet I assure you not even Solomon in all his royal robes was dressed like one of these.

Shedding her last leaf

she watched it journey to the ground.

She stood in silence

wearing the color of emptiness,

her branches wondering:

How do you give shade with so much gone?

And Jesus said:

Do not be troubled or needlessly concerned.

And then,

the sacrament of waiting began.

The sunrise and sunset watched with tenderness.

Clothing her with silhouettes

they kept her hope alive.

They helped her understand that

her vulnerability

her dependence and need

her emptiness

her readiness to receive

were giving her a new kind of beauty.

Every morning and every evening

they stood in silence

and celebrated together

the sacrament of waiting!

And Jesus said:

Now if that is how God cares for the wild flowers in the fields which are here today and gone tomorrow, will He not all the more care for you?

Soundtrack: David Gray, "Holding On"