The Beauty of Letting Go
Walking along the woodland path at Cherry Fields recently, I found myself slowing down. The path was carpeted with fallen leaves in shades of gold, amber and deep red. There was something quietly beautiful about it. Only a few weeks earlier, those same leaves had been full of life, catching the summer sunshine. Now they rested on the ground, crunching beneath my feet.
Every autumn, millions of trees quietly do something that most of us find surprisingly difficult. They let go. Leaves that have spent months growing, capturing sunlight and bringing life simply drift to the ground. No resistance. No panic. No desperate attempt to cling on. They simply release what has served its purpose.
We're often different. We hold on to old disappointments, past mistakes, treasured memories, old habits and sometimes even yesterday's successes. We tell ourselves that holding on somehow keeps us safe, when in reality it can stop us embracing what lies ahead. Autumn isn't the season when the trees stop growing. It's the season when they grow differently.
Through the prophet Isaiah, God says, "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?" (Isaiah 43:18–19). These words aren’t asking us to ignore the past. There are lessons to learn, memories to treasure and people we should never forget. But we are invited not to live there. If we become so focused on what was, we may miss the new thing already beginning.
The hope I have found in Jesus always points me forwards. His forgiveness means my past no longer defines me. God is always quietly preparing the ground for something new.
Perhaps that's the lesson the trees have been teaching all along. They are not giving up; they are getting ready.
What looks like an ending is actually preparation. Beneath the surface, roots continue to grow. Energy is being stored. New buds are already beginning to form, even though they won't appear until spring.
The next time I walk through Cherry Fields, I know the leaves will crunch beneath my feet just as they did this week. But I suspect I'll see them differently. Instead of seeing what the tree has lost, I'll be reminded of what it's preparing for.
Perhaps that's a question worth carrying with us this October: What am I holding on to that I need to release?
Because perhaps the most beautiful new beginnings don't start with holding on a little tighter, but with having the courage to let go.
September in the Rain
Writing this on yet another hot, dry day, I can only dream of September rain. Whether the weather breaks, remains to be seen, but September brings a fresh start. As schools return and autumn begins, the rhythm of life shifts. It is a time to pause, notice the changing world, and give thanks for new beginnings. Children begin new classes, and some a new school. For them, their parents and teachers, excitement can sit alongside real worries: different friends, new teachers, unfamiliar classrooms and expectations. As mornings cool, leaves turn and evenings draw in, September reminds us that life is always moving, bringing hope and challenge. Not everything will go as planned.
I once had the pleasure of directing John Godber’s play September in the Rain. It follows Jack and Liz through many years of annual holidays in Blackpool: wet promenades, boarding houses, familiar arguments, laughter and disappointment. The holidays are far from perfect, and neither is their marriage. Yet beneath the bickering and frustrations lies something much more important: a deep love, built through years of shared experience and everyday faithfulness. At the heart of the play is a piece of wisdom: life is not made meaningful because every plan works out, the weather behaves, or we always say the right thing. Its meaning is found in the people with whom we share it; in familiar routines, stories repeated, kindnesses offered, and love that remains when things do not go as we hoped.
As I have journeyed with God, I have come to see something similar, He is not looking for perfection from us. He does not wait for us to have all the answers, make no mistakes, or have everything neatly in place before He welcomes us. He meets us as we are: with our hopes and worries, successes and disappointments, and imperfect attempts to begin again.
After the drought of this summer, September rain may be particularly welcome. It might spoil an outing or make the school run less pleasant, but it is life-giving. It refreshes dry ground and reminds us that we cannot control everything. We can, however, choose what we pay attention to. Each day offers the possibility of a fresh start; each season reminds us that renewal is possible. As a new school year and autumn begin, perhaps we can resist the pressure to make everything perfect. There will be busy days, unexpected changes, disappointments and damp moments. But there will also be opportunities to value what matters most: family and friends, neighbours and community, simple acts of care, and a God who is with us in the day-to-day; faithful and unchanging, helping us to see the good that is already there.
