Longing for Fall

            Here we are in mid-September in Tennessee.  Everyone is ready for fall.  Anytime I log into social media, I see a trend.  People are despairing that fall seems to be nowhere around.  The calendar says mid-September, but the temperature says early August.  With highs in the 90s each day, it is more difficult to get excited about pumpkins, mums, and fall festivals.  And going to a football game before sunset feels equivalent to sitting on the sun.  We are dreaming about the brisk mornings, sweatshirts, and fall-themed coffee drinks.  We are looking forward to watching the trees change color and eventually give way to the force of nature that causes their leaves to fall to the ground.  The changing, dying, and hope of renewal in the spring await us outside.  And we want to see it all.  And as much as it seems right now like it may never come – it will.  It will come, and the cycle will continue.  And in March we will be thirsty for spring. 

            This year I find myself longing for fall in the depths of my soul.  I really love fall.  It is my favorite season by far.  If ragweed were eliminated from the earth, it would be downright perfect.  I love the coziness it brings.  The holidays and hayrides, the fall sports, the gratitude, the pumpkin bread, the beautiful leaves – they are all so amazing.  But this year as I wait to watch the leaves turn and give way and let go, I find myself pondering all the things I want to let go of in the coming fall season.  With the trees as my inspiration and partners, I want to drop some leaves and make way for new growth.

I want to drop my insecurities, the voice in my head that tells me I’m not enough.  I want to drop the trauma that made that voice infinitely louder and refuse to let it define me.  I want to drop allegiance to the systems that gave me a false notion of who I am.  I want to drop any version of myself that paints me as anything other than a loved child of God, created in his image.  I want to drop my self-doubt and second-guessing.  I want to drop my fear of what people will think when I drop my leaves - because holding onto dead leaves won’t nourish anyone.  I want to drop my need to explain myself over and over and over again.  I want to drop my tendency to apologize incessantly when it isn’t warranted.  I want to drop my tendency to look in the mirror and wish I looked differently.  I want to drop the tendency to fear people and ideas that are different than what I know.  I want to drop the constant temptation to tend to everything except the breathing of my soul.  I want to drop resentment.  I want to drop the picture in my mind of how things are supposed to be and the notion that I have to make everything perfect.  I want to watch these leaves fall from the trees.  And then I want to rake them up.  I want to jump in them and play and laugh at the fact that I’m not carrying them anymore.  I want to make leaf angels and pile them over my head, so I can jump out and shout.  I want them to know that they no longer have power over me, but rather that I can smile at the ways they have opened up the opportunity for growth in the spring.  And then I want to bag them up and send them on their way. 

            And when spring comes, and it will come, I want to grow back new leaves.  I want to grow back leaves that are vibrant and nourishing.  One leaf will be called confidence.  Another will be called peace.  There will be leaves of self-love and self-acceptance.  There will be a leaf called courage.  There will be leaves of more encompassing compassion and love for others.  There will be leaves of speaking up when necessary and not being embarrassed to take up space in the world.  There will be leaves of education and empowerment that I will spread across other people who desperately need them.  There will be leaves of new ideas and new experiences.  There will be a leaf of self-compassion and a leaf of perpetual hope.  There will be the beautiful leaf of communion with God, and really, I guess that is the root system of the whole tree.  And in the spring, when I have grown these new leaves, I will create oxygen that is clean and new and needed.  I will be able to breathe new and full, and my breathing will give breath to those around me.  And the leaves I carried before the fall, they will be a memory, an important part of my journey, and a reminder that things are always being made new.  And when I see one of those leaves on someone else’s tree, I will love them and know that I once carried that leaf too.