God's Confetti ... Revisited

I know that, in my last post, I drew no correlation between my tree that's so beautiful to confetti, especially God's confetti. That's exactly what I think of when I see the leaves falling. It's a little sad, to think of such glorious beauty falling to the ground only to be trampled or composted. But, they fall with such grace ... almost as if there's joy and dancing in their letting go to the wind and inside the rhythm of the season.

I probably shouldn't make this confession, but I'm gonna. There's something else about falling and fallen leaves that makes me giggle, a little like confetti. When Bo and Luke Duke (or any of the good guys, for that matter) would drive the streets and back roads of Hazzard County, there was always a multitude of fallen leaves kicked up into the air. It didn't matter what season of the year it was, the General Lee or Daisy's jeep even Uncle Jessie's old truck sent these once-dead-now-alive-again treasures dancing through the air. I think I live in Hazzard County ... lots of reasons give me that pause. Primarily, it's this - everywhere I go, I am the one these days kicking up dancing leaves wherever I go. You will not hear me shout "yee haw" out an open window and welded door. Neither will you hear my horn toot 'Dixie' ... but you might hear me giggle thankfully for God's confetti.

God's Confetti

Everytime I go to my back door, this is the sight that greets me. I love this tree! The brilliant yellow of the leaves tinged with greens and reds and a little orange here and there is both regal and wild. I love this tree because it's beautiful this time of year and because it's mine. Well, kinda ... it's actually God's first; and some would say it belongs to the church since I live in their house. But, it's mine for no other reason than this: I've stopped long enough to receive it's beauty in this moment as a gift from the One who created it. And, so it is mine. Shauna Niequist posted a picture a year ago and again just a week or so ago of a red tree on their property. Along with the picture comes the lesson she's learned of being so busy with what seems to be important in the moment that you miss the gift of that glorious beauty. (In case your curiosity gets the best of you, www.shaunaniequist.com.)

That challenges me to think that the miraculous is happening all around me all the time I miss them just because I don't see. And, I think Augustine got it right (the quote of the day; take a look) ... you wanna see more miraculous stuff you gotta start thinking about the possibilities differently. This isn't just about paying better attention to the beauty of my corner of creation, although that's a great place to start. Maybe my next miracle, or yours, starts with deep gratitude for the ability to see or hear or smell or taste or touch the very ordinary stuff of our lives that makes living such a rich experience. Maybe, just maybe, our next miracle starts with holding out hope for a resolution, or reconciliation, or renewal, or restoration even though the world would tell us our circumstances add up to none, zip, nada.

I choose today to be deeply grateful for my tree ... and every other reflection of and avenue to God's glory. They are miracles and they are mine just by being open to receive them. And, they are reminders that the "impossible" is very possible at any season, in any situation, for any body. You don't have a tree like this? Not anywhere? You can have mine until you find your own!