Recently as I was walking to my car, a brisk wind jolted my attention upward, my skin assaulted by the sudden chill. As I looked up from the task of finding my car keys to make a quick escape out of the cold, I couldn’t help but take in the full view before me.

I was parked under one of the few trees in the parking lot. This past summer it had looked bigger when all of it’s branches were full of thick, lush leaves. It had provided shade to keep the car interior cool against the heat. This past autumn those same leaves had danced with vibrant hues of red, decorating the pavement with their colors and crispness.

But now? Now it lay mostly bare. I could clearly see all it’s limbs and branches, every twig in a maze of dark, brown growth. And as autumn purposefully marched into winter, I could now see a few leaves were still clinging on, fighting against the march of time.
Refusing to submit to the season approaching.

I felt a prick in my own spirit.

As I stood there staring at the leaves, the words that came to my mind were not courage or endurance. The words I couldn’t shake were “stunted growth”.

Brown, dried out, shriveled and dying. These leaves were stuck as if they had forgotten their purpose. As if they had forgotten their tree was meant for growth. Growth in each new season so it would be prepared, be equipped, be ready to fulfill it’s destiny.

In spring when the days grow longer and the temperatures warm, the sap within the tree will begin to move, bringing with it fresh nutrients after winter’s rest. Buds will appear, growing over days and weeks. They will provide food and nourishment for small creatures and insects. Many will erupt into tiny green leaves, growing and creating within it’s branches a safe haven for nests. Creating a space of refuge, a place where new life can also thrive.
In autumn they will display possibly their greatest moments of beauty yet, delighting the senses of us who sit beneath them, teasing our eyes with colors that are specially reserved for this time. With their dance back towards earth they will signal winter’s arrival once again.

Maybe in our view of winter being a time of darkness and barrenness, we’ve forgotten something. That for this tree, winter is marked for a time of rest.

I’ve thought about that tree a lot, and about how where I live, our calendar year both ends and begins in winter.
Our Pastor at church once when teaching about rest, pointed out on the 7th day of Creation God rested, but Adam was created on the 6th day. Which means God’s week of creation ended with rest, while Adam’s week of being created started with rest.

Winter. Rest.

Reflecting on this past year, there have been some incredible moments.
Assignments have been completed. Wounds have been healed. Storms have been weathered.
There has been pursuit and drawing nearer.
There has been both chiseling and sculpting. Refining fire.
There has also been the warm blankets of comfort.
There have been opportunities to pour into others, and opportunities to be poured into.
There has been growth.

It’s hard to not cling tightly to what has past even as a new season whispers of what’s ahead.

But the thing I realize, is I too am meant to be ever growing.
Because I too have assignments, purpose, and destiny.
To be equipped, prepared, and ignited about my Father’s business.

That is the thought that has most pierced my spirit this past week. As this year draws to an end, and as I sit in the quiet with Abba God, to recognize this is a time to shake out the leaves before the New Year comes.
So that these branches are fully exposed. So that this heart is fully exposed before Him.
For Him to make room to burn away, to renew, and then to ignite fresh fire.

May we pause in the quiet of winter to heed the season to rest.
To renew.
To prepare for the seasons to come with our Father.

May we not be deceived into clinging to old, dry, brittle leaves.
Because we prepare with expectation, and with hope, for the new year, the new seasons to come.