It is October now, and the trees have begun to transform into their autumn glory. It is inevitable, observing the world and reading fall poetry, not to think of death as everything appears to lose color and life for the barren beauty of winter. And as I watch the trees I cannot help but think to myself: If only we could accept our daily, weekly, yearly deaths with such exquisite grace! If only we could bow and joyfully, humbly give up the adornments of self, our very selves, and whatever else the Lord may ask.
Can we trust that He bares our branches for His greater glory and the triumph of Spring? Can we trust You shall still consent to walk alongside us in our barren state? O give me grace to die to myself every day, graceful and obedient as the autumn tree!
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