What Remains?

Slanted sunbeams dance

on falling leaves

as they slowly pirrouette

and join others on the ground.

Too soon this tree will be stripped bare,

nothing to cover its branches.

Rather than a thing of beauty and shade,

it becomes a sign of loss.

And while I glory in the autumn of the year,

I too am in a season of letting go.

This year fall is a season of change.

Of loss.

Of such hard goodbyes

with an ache that shadows the delight of fall.

And I wonder,

what will remain when this season is over?

Will nothing be the same?

But then I remember

the one who was stripped bare for me,

his cross a sign of loss

with a deep purpose behind it.

What seemed like loss was actually gain,

bringing the most divine covering

we could ever imagine.

So, what remains?

Deep roots of faith,

anchors that hold me fast.

Knowing that my Savior is good and kind,

that He has done marvelous things.

Branches of hope reaching skyward, 

with the anticipation of a new season ahead

and a purpose in the pain.

But love,

love remains like slanted sun beams on falling leaves,

shining on me,

warming me,

bringing comfort and assurance

in His perfect plans.

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