"When the Leaves Let Go..." - 10/15/25

On my way to work this morning...
the air was cool and hushed, the city wrapped in a faint mist. Leaves scattered across the road like small fragments of gold, carried here and there by the passing wind. I slowed my steps for a moment to watch them fall—each one drifting freely, as though knowing its time had come. Something in that simple motion stirred my heart. Amid the rush of schedules and the steady hum of routine, I sensed a quiet invitation—to reflect on change, on release, and on the quiet work of renewal that God performs within every season of life.


Scripture
“Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.”
— 2 Corinthians 4:16 (NIV)


Reflection
Morning comes veiled in mist. The air carries the soft chill of October, and the world feels suspended between warmth and frost. Trees stand half-clothed, their remaining leaves trembling in the wind—golden, russet, and brittle as parchment. One by one, they surrender to the unseen current and drift to the ground.

There is a quiet holiness in this letting go. Nature does not resist her own transformation. The leaf, once green with life, accepts its fading with a strange dignity. It falls not as a failure but as a fulfillment—its journey complete, its purpose shifting from canopy to soil, from shade to sustenance.

So, too, are we called to live within the rhythm of change. The seasons of our lives—our routines, our work, our relationships, our inward growth—move with a divine tempo we cannot command. The Spirit whispers through the passing wind: Do not cling too tightly. The holy work of autumn is trust.

When routines shift, when plans fade, when something we’ve relied upon begins to wither, we are often tempted to grasp harder. Yet grace often waits in the release. In the pattern of creation, God writes a promise: that what falls will feed what will one day bloom again. The dying leaf becomes soil for new roots; the cooled air prepares the hidden seeds. Renewal always begins in surrender.

Perhaps that is what Paul meant when he wrote that we are “being renewed day by day.” Renewal is not always visible. It may happen beneath the surface, in unseen places, as our hearts learn to rest in the hands that hold all seasons.

In the slowing pace of autumn, when daylight wanes and evenings grow long, we are invited to remember that our worth is not in constant productivity. The earth teaches us to pause, to breathe, to wait in faith for what God is shaping within us.

In Korean, the word 가을 (gaeul)—autumn—carries a tone of wistful beauty, a gentle awareness of impermanence. It mirrors the Hebrew שָׁלוֹם (shalom, peace), reminding us that peace is not the absence of change but harmony within it. The peace of God does not still the wind—it helps us sway with it.

So, as leaves dance their final descent and fog softens the morning, let the spirit of this season settle in you. What needs releasing? What change is asking to be embraced with grace? The One who ordains every season also holds every transformation in love. The tree that stands bare today will sing again with new leaves. And the soul that yields to God’s rhythm will find its renewal sure as spring.


Prayer
Gracious Creator of the seasons,
Teach us the holy art of letting go.
When change unsettles our hearts, remind us that You are constant.
When we feel the loss of what once was, plant within us the hope of what will be.
As the trees release their leaves, may we release our fears into Your faithful hands.
Renew us inwardly day by day,
Until our lives, like autumn’s light,
Reflect Your quiet glory.
Amen.