Let it be: Fall leaves, wise trees and a lesson in patience

Let it be: Fall leaves, wise trees and a lesson in patience

As I was finishing up a run in the RARE Dusseldorf sun on Monday, it was a perfect time to check the following off the PLAYlist:

Make a collection of FALL leeeaves.

Well, my simple intention of a leafy collection sprouted into something different.

When the first fallen beauty stopped me in my tracks, I reached down and…paused.

 


Something told me to just…let it BE.

:: queue The Beatles ::

The masterpiece had already been curated.
This leaf belonged where it fell.

And, well, let’s face it: A winged or drunken creature had likely dropped a not-so-special substance on this foliage. #eww

But back to the BEAUTY. 😉

Suddenly, I started seeing surrounding leafy combos from a color-palette lens. Like this:

In that moment, I saw God as a bad-ass graphic designer.
Everything around me was a work of art.
Anything more would’ve felt “forced.”
Ah…”forcing it.”
  • What shows up for you as you read that?
  • What are you forcing or hoping to happen now-now-now?
  • Are you hell-bent on something going according to plan or can you let go a little?

You’re so tempted to put that hard-ass Haagen Dazs in the microwave. I am, too. But we both know what makes it taste better: #patience #time #authenticity

GAHHH! Why am I talking about ice cream??

Back to tree puns:

SO.

If you think about it, at any given time, the color scheme beneath our Autumn feet is the result of a col-“lumber”-ation. Get it? A collaboration between the trees!

Depending on where I am, the colors, shapes and sizes of the fallen leaves hold different themes. But everything just…WORKS. Everything GOES. It’s art.

These silent giants (trees!) are at work 24/7 and quietly watching how their work is received below.

  • Some piss on it.
  • Some sh*t on it.
  • Some mindlessly walk all over it.
  • Some take videos of their feet crunching through it.
  • Some take ALL the pictures of it.
  • Some collect it.
  • Some peep with it:
  • Some rake it into a pile of trash.
  • Some treasure that trash and jump in it.
  • Some roll around in it.
  • Some will *want* to jump in it and roll around in it, but they’ll think they’re too old for it.

The trees know the drill. After damn year. They know there’ll be a mixed response of naysayers and celebrators. Does that stop any single one of them from doing what THEY know best? Nope. They stand strong.

“I’m gonna sit down. I’m not very good at this,” said NO TREE EVER.


How can a friggin’ TREE dish out SO many great lessons without explicitly saying ANYthing? 

Because a quiet lesson from nature says EVERYTHING.

It’s like trying and trying to get a ladybug to crawl onto your hand, but she won’t have it…

BUT…

Oh, BUT…when you least expect it, she lands on the back of your leg.

Because again…

When we let things be,
When we go with the flow,
When we live/work/love from a place that only WE know best,
THAT is when everything falls into place.
THAT is when beauty lands in our lap.

Sometimes our “plans” show up in different places, in different packages and most of all, at different times. Has this already happened in your life?

Something that immediately comes to mind for me is when David and I were looking into a global deployment program through his work in 2012. We were dying to live abroad and do something different, but he wasn’t going to be eligible till 2014.

We were like, “Ugh…never mind, then. That’s way too far from now.”

Then, 2014 rolled around in about 10 minutes, he reapplied, and it WORKED.

Now that I can look back, I’m not sure I would’ve thrived or even survived in Germany if we came when we *wanted* to. Those two years leading up were bootcamp for our marriage, faith, relationships and work perspectives. It all landed exactly the way it needed to.

So, that thing that’s not panning out the way you *want* it to?

Let it be. Go with the flow. 

Trust that there’s something even better in the works.

How is this landing for you?
Feel free to “leaf” me a line in the comments below.

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