Autumn comes, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly.  The trees’ colors alter from beautiful to dreary.  As I looked out a window, I noticed a few remaining leaves still on the branches.  Tenacious little buggers.  I looked at how most of those left behind, that did not waft to the ground in full color, were ragged and worn.  The wind had whipped them into odd shapes and there were tears and holes.

 

Then it hit me; a spiritual lesson.  Many of us, who have been thru the proverbial grinder, must appear like these leaves.  We’re worn, tattered, all sorts of worn out.  But you know how we got this way?  The same way the leaves did – we didn’t give up; we held on for dear life and kept hanging on when the rest of our comrades had succumb  to the pull of gravity and the cool weather.

 

No wonder we look a little worn around the edges.  No wonder we don’t shine with the brilliance of the colors the rest of the leaves sported.  We stuck around far longer than they.  We’re still holding on – and come spring, we’ll be those stubborn brown leaves that only give yield when a new leaf comes to replace us.

 

We may be a little worn, but we’re certainly strong.  Look out your window – find that leaf that refuses to drop – then pat yourself on the back.  The reason those leaves are tattered is because they didn’t give up or let go.  They stood against the storms and remain to remind us that once the tree was green and soon again it will return to life.  We who walk around with these battle scars are much the same way – someone can look at us and take heart that if we made it through, so can they.

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