Falling Leaves

The sun rises so early now, I’ve felt like I’ve been sleeping in all week. I roll over at the sound of my alarm and sigh contentedly as I sink back into the soft afghan around me. Tossing a glance through the window, I see trees on fire. There are two distinctive trees in my immediate view; one a blazing crimson maple, the other fiery gold aspen. I often leave my window open overnight, and a chilling breeze creeps through to help wake me up, with the accompanying fresh scent of autumn air. It is autumn here, though warmer than previous ones I’ve had in Virginia; it is my first fall in Alexandria, and represents the last first season here. Once pure winter sets in, the holidays and seasons will come along with memories of this place; our little fake tree on top of moving boxes, our initial search for flowers to plant in our tiny yard, barbeques and the like. Just a few more weeks and the cycle, as it were, will begin once more.

As I was walking up the Hill to a briefing today, I noticed the oblong, brown-gold leaves of a tree twirling from their branches, pulled by a restless wind, and falling in a most charming and calculated fashion. They were weighted in such a way that they fell in a continuous corkscrew shape, never diverting from their course. The concrete-pebble sidewalks of Capitol Hill are littered with leaves. Autumn is also the last new season of mine working in Washington. When I started working here, the winter chill was in full force, and I distinctly remember looking through the subcommittee’s giant picture window during staff meetings to see snow raining down from the heavens. The drifts were many feet high and were tossed around quite ruthlessly; at times, I couldn’t even see the Capitol for the thick white curtain. It’s been over ten months since my first official day on the Hill. At once, it seems the blink of an eye, and an inexplicable eternity. I feel I have touched but the tip of the iceberg that is policymaking, and yet, I know my office and certain issues as if by heart. Yet the more I learn, the more I feel that is not enough and I don’t understand it and must go further in…

Perhaps this is the Potomac fever everyone speaks of, maybe this is the intoxication of politics. Or maybe, this, too, is just a season. We talk so much of seasons, especially in Christianity; it seems to have become an almost flippant way to express, “so, you dislike where you are, it’s alright, you’ll get over it eventually.” We see seasons in linear time, going toward a certain goal (e.g., sanctification), and I certainly believe that is true. However, the example of nature is also telling: living, dying, death, rebirth. Isn’t that the process through which we end up living and learning? Should we be concerned that we may have to deal with some of the same struggles over and over again? Or should we be thankful that the One who began a good work in us knows us well enough to identify (and cares enough to deal with) the very hindrances that hold back our walk with Him?

Fall comes every year. The leaves will fall and the frost will come. Even this death is magnificent in its own right, with the piles of warm colored leaves and smells of pumpkin and spices. Autumn makes a year no better and no worse; it simply is how God ordained it to be. And that is more than sufficient to comfort my soul. As for me, I shall be satisfied to awake in Your likeness… even if that is on the other side of another death.