The beautiful death of fall 

As cliche as it sounds, fall is my favorite season. Crisp air, cool relief from a hot summer, scarfs and sweaters, and baking. On top of all of that, the leaves change into bright reds, oranges, and yellows. They are dying….and it’s beautiful.

I often think about paradoxes in the Christian life: to be last is to be first, to be humbled is to be exalted, to lose is to win, to be weak is to be strong. To die is to live.

The beauty of fall is the beauty of death. Nature dies and we ooh and aah. 

Another beauty of fall is the hope of spring. Without fall, there can be no spring. Without death, there is no life. 

Herein lies the tension in my heart. Dying to myself, submitting to God, being thankful. Giving up my control, my plans, my desires. Frankly, it’s painful. Dying is painful, especially when you don’t want to. I want to hold on to what I know and though it’s a miserable half life, it’s familiar. As wretched as it is, I like familiar.

What I don’t know–or perhaps what I forget–is that the dying is beautiful. It’s uncertain but it’s beautiful.

Actually, it’s not that uncertain…spring comes. Spring–life–always comes. 

But what really makes fall beautiful? What makes dying beautiful? What makes my surrendering my entire being at the threat of pain…beautiful? Because, just like fall, God is in it. He creates the crisp air, the cool relief, the vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows. He also creates my life and all its steps, including the dying…the ache inside and the hope of spring.
God is in it, so it’s beautiful. 



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