I’m going to make an analogy here. I hope you’ll roll with me on it.

Sometimes life seems like a harvest time to me.

You know, a culmination–nearing the end of a season of beauty. You get to see, finally, the rewards of all of the hard work that you’ve put in–you get to literally reap what you’ve sown. There’s no more hoping, no more faith. It’s pure knowledge because you can see the fruits of your labor, right there in your hands. Nevertheless, things are at their pinnacle–you know that they’re about to be gone, and you know that it’s the way that it’s supposed to be. You step back in wonder at the beautiful colors and the perfect ripeness that only last for a brief fleeting moment. Harvest, for me, is a time of awe.

I am standing in a moment like that in my life, it feels like, right now.

It’s hard to see beyond that brilliance. It’s hard to not want these perfect moments to last. It’s hard to not be afraid of the seeming gloom that will come next–the sparsity, the hibernation–when all you want is the beauty and magic to stay forever.

It’s hard to be okay with the cycle of things.

Winter doesn’t seem to be a hopeful time. You know? It seems to be anything but. Harvest seems like an end. It would be really easy to see the bad in that–the ending, the finality of it all–and ignore what fall really is. Yes, it’s an end, but it’s also the beginning of the next amazing thing that comes.

All of those leaves, once brilliant and gorgeous on the trees, cover the ground and feed it. They protect the acorns and seeds that have already fallen, almost imperceptibly because of their sheer number, and found a place to nestle themselves. Only by getting rid of the old can the new find a place. You get a brief respite, as does the ground, before it’s time to sow again.

It’s true of life as well.

While I reap, right now, some of the fruits of many years of hopeful labor, I know that I am witnessing but the smallest degree of the harvest that I will see. Does that make any sense? So while I wish these seemingly perfect moments would last forever, I look forward to the day when my harvest will be full, when I will have proven myself a profitable servant in some small measure, when I will be able to reap all of the things that I have hoped for but have not yet seen.

But I mourn, a little bit, every leaf that falls.

I think that’s probably okay.

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