Withered

My long driveway is proving to be quite an interesting and unexpected classroom. I have started noticing that the subtle progression of summer to fall has begun. Yes, it’s that time of the year here in the woods, when deep shades of green begin to give way to varying hues of orange, red, yellow, gold, and brown. The leaves that proudly held their places in the trees all summer long are now being coaxed from their perches by cooler and cooler evenings. There is no sadness in any of this. On the contrary, there is a muffled exuberance in the forest which, in only a matter of a month, will burst all day long with colors that are generally reserved for sunrise and sunset. It is an art exhibit, painted by God each and every year. I am enjoying my front row seat.

As the woods give up their summer garment, all sorts of critters are exposed. I can hear and even see some of them now as they are busy foraging for the upcoming winter. As much as I enjoy summer and fall, I do look forward to winter’s arrival; I enjoy its uniqueness and purpose in God’s ever-inventive and surprising cycle of seasons. In God’s time the winter will yield to spring, a time of new life and color. Spring will be then be pushed aside by summer, and just at the right time the branches of the forest will once again be used in the Creator’s autumnal pageant. Sort of.

As it turns out, not all of the branches will be back for next year’s display.

About three weeks ago, I started pruning back some of the trees and bushes that grow along the driveway. What I thought would be a day’s work became several days work. I pruned and then cleared as I went. On my way back up to the house one day, I pruned several branches from some bush that produces inedible berries. Instead of clearing what I pruned, I just left it there with the intention of piling it up with the rest of the clippings later.

The following day on my walk to get the mail, I noticed the “berry” branches I had pruned. They lay near the bush they had once been attached to; they were still full of color and berries. Intrigued by this, I decided to see how long they would look fresh. Day after day those clippings remained healthy looking with dark green leaves and bright red berries, almost as if they never needed the bush they were a part of in the first place. Two weeks later though, I noticed that the leaves began to wilt ever so slightly. A week after that, the branches had looked like what I had expected to see originally; I finally saw dried leaves, twigs, and shriveled berries testifying to the reality of being separated from their source of life. They were withered and lifeless. Whatever willpower, momentum, or sheer determination they contained, it was not enough. It was only a matter of a few weeks before the consequences of their separation became visibly evident. The truth is, even though they had the appearance that they were healthy apart from the main branches, they began to starve as soon as they were removed from the bush. For them, death was an unpleasant inevitability. They will not be back for next year’s parade of colors. Instead, they will be burned some time this winter.

My observation of those branches along the driveway parallels a truth in my life. Jesus speaks of this truth plainly in the 15th chapter of the Gospel of John. He is the true vine and source of real life, and I am one of the branches. I must stay connected to Him. Apart from Him, I might have the appearance of being normal, vibrant and full of life, but I would be starving to death, both physically and spiritually. My willpower, my momentum, or my own sheer determination would sustain me only briefly. In human time, I might last years or even decades. In relation to eternity, it would be frighteningly fleeting. Not only that, my so called “life” would be one moment after another gasping for air, water, and purpose. I would have no hope.

The reality is, apart from Jesus, I can do nothing; and in the end I would wind up just like those branches along my driveway. I might look good for awhile, but in no time at all I would become withered and die. You would too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner