Each spring, after winter has thawed and the sounds of new life begin to fill the space, there are remnants of autumn. Albeit few, they are there: brown, withered, stubborn leaves that never made their way to forest floor. Most trees do not adorn them, but my eyes always pause on those that do. In the past, I’ve wondered why it is that a few dozen leaves remained while hundreds more rode the wind to a place of rest for the winter. While I’m sure there is some scientific explanation for it, I am even more certain of this:
Often, I almost strive to be like those trees. I fight Him, grasping whatever it is He is calling me to release, refusing to let Him make beauty from something I just can’t seem to part with. Maybe it is because I don’t trust that He will make it beautiful in the way I wish He would. Maybe it is because I am simply not ready to be finished with it, so I hold fast to it. Or even still, maybe it is because I am selfish, I want my way, and that includes keeping my pride and not fully surrendering to Him.
Regardless of the justification I could tack onto it, if I choose to fight God in this way, when the new season comes with its beauty ready to bloom, I will have dead, dried remnants of the past that stand in the way of the new growth He has in store for me.