Golden Leaves

As we rested by the crackling fire last night, a blustery wind rose outside and pummelled the golden raiment of the autumnal trees. Raindrops pattered on the windows, as if seeking refuge inside with us.

This morning, I expected to see a thick carpet of colour spread out under and around bare trees. But no! The golden elm outside the prayer window still stuns in shades of fire. There are more leaves on the ground, but there remain many still held tight by the twigs and branches of the trees. Some are not yet ready to drop.

When I talk to my dear Mom, I always hear the weariness in her voice. Yesterday, she said she is tired out just getting dressed in the morning. At 98, reaching for the phone is an effort.

She is one of those golden leaves. Psalm 63 has a favourite verse of mine: My soul clings to you, your right hand upholds me. This is such a beautiful picture of my Mom. Her soul clings to God, and his right hand continues to uphold her. And at just the right moment, that right hand will close round her in a loving embrace and carry her home, where all the turmoil, confusion and tiredness will give way to joy unending.

Thank you, Jesus, that you made a way for this to be our future.