Falling leaves
Leaves, I love the way leaves litter my front yard as they slowly turn from green to a burnt yellow and fall from the oak trees that now tower above my head. Some years the acorns are almost as plentiful as the leaves, and I love their little elfin hats that perch on nut brown heads. But this year the acorns are few and the yard is carpeted with the softer crunch of leaves. And on this beautiful, sunny, autumn day I stand and watch as they slowly drift down.
While I linger here, the sun sinks lower in the southern half of the western horizon and its rays’ stream through lofty branches that grow more transparent with each passing day. A breeze whispers through the treetops and the leaves rustle their dry and raspy response as they make their slow descent to the ground.
Passing Years
Watching their long fall, I am reminded that my trees are beginning to bear evidence of maturity and the long years of care and tending have now produced a yard filled with leaves from mature trees. For a brief moment a wave of sadness flows over me as I am also reminded of the passing season and the passing days, weeks, and months that have built into years and like the leaves, have slowly drifted into memory.
When I moved here more than twenty years ago, there were no trees on my property. Now I am surrounded by trees. They fill my yard and line my borders. They are no longer small, but big adult trees – young adult trees that will continue to grow, but big trees, nonetheless. And as my trees have matured, I too have aged. I have only to look into a mirror to see astounding evidence of that fact.
Present and Past Pleasures
On this day, just before Thanksgiving, I am reminded of other beautiful autumn days and other Thanksgiving gatherings. There have been times when my home was filled to overflowing with friends and family. I remember the delicious salads my sister-in-law Shellie used to bring and the sweetness of her company in the kitchen as we prepared the meal. I remember when dear friends who felt like family joined us, and our family was blessed by their presence. I think of my nephew, Thad, and how we were all blessed by his talent at the piano. And I remember the sweetness and solemnity of our gathering as my brother led us in communion before our Thanksgiving meal.
Yet, with age and passing years, pleasure has come too. I had the joy of watching my children plant trees that would continue to grow long after they grew up and left home. And I now have the pleasure of watching my grandchildren play in and among those trees. They swing from the tire swing and circle swing. They try to climb the lower branches and look up in wonder at the towering treetops. They laugh and delight in Grandma’s yard full of trees. And despite the reminder of passing time, their pleasure and delight bring me the sweetest joy.
Holding both Grief and Gratitude
This year, as in recent years, my family table is simple and our gathering small, and I feel both a sense of grief and a sweetness in the memories of passed gatherings and people who will never join our table again in this life. Gladness and grief; pleasure and pain, they often come together, and we want to hold onto one and let the other go like a hot potato. But in holding both I think we wholly feel what it means to be human created in the image of God -created for eternity. I grieve for the falling leaves, the passing of a season, the seasons that are gone forever, and the passing of time and people. But they are not completely gone, they are present in memory and perhaps also in the shared features of those whose lives are just beginning. So, I also revel in this season as I watch my youngest grandson examine the falling leaves, and I celebrate the beginning of life, and welcome new seasons.
As we celebrate this Thanksgiving Day and remember our blessings and the things for which we are thankful, let’s not try to put our sorrows and griefs aside; let’s not bury the past, but hold both in this moment. I cannot start to understand or explain why we have suffering and sorrow in this life, but I wonder if we would fully recognize pleasure without it. While I cannot say that I rejoice in the sorrows and losses that have filled my life, I realize they have shaped me as much as my pleasures. While I give thanks today for the abundance and blessings in my life, I also hold in the same uplifted, outstretched hand of thanksgiving, my sorrows, and my griefs. And I find that I can hold both with gratitude.