What inner pain causes the last leaf of autumn to cling so tightly to the branch of the tree? What deep-seated fear impels it to hold on so desperately?
Is it worried that the winds will carry it far away from the security of the tree that it has known and loved throughout the seasons of the past?
Or perhaps it is the decay of death that repels it so.
Whatever the reason for the anguish of the leaf that causes it to be so very needful, it can't possibly know that the bitterness of a cold winter is just around the corner, or that the sturdy condition of the branch to which it helplessly lingers, is no match for the weight of the ice and snow that is sure to come.
Release yourself to the sweet surrender of God's love, lonely leaf. Let go in trust. Let your horizons expand like those of the sun rising above the lake.
