greener on this side

I watched a leaf fall to the ground today. There, on the trail I was running, the leaf landed –the branch, from which it hung, let go of it. After budding in the spring and flourishing through the summer, growing from the tree’s nutrient supply, it came to its end, floating to the ground to be used in producing life through its breakdown; giving life through its death in this transition from summer to fall.

Who do I become through my transitions? Who do you become? A friend of mine birthed a beautiful boy and now relishes her motherhood while another friend mourns the loss of a parent. Some transitions bring life and some bring death, both, however, bring hope. Hope that we will grow in character. Hope that we will meet the need. Hope that this moment will feed and cultivate a beautiful future.

I had recoiled deep within myself, retreating to my teenage immaturity, throwing tantrums when events failed to produce desired results. Thrashing about to and fro between rotations and bouncing between confidants, asking the same questions and listening only for what the response I wanted.

Until finally, I remained still. Remained quiet. Simply remained.

After leaning on my friends for far too long, requesting they carry my burdens, they now request I carry theirs. They reach deep within me, pull up and scrape off the depths of my heart – the part that thrives on cultivating relationship and beats with the rhythm of the community. The years through which I have passed now provide the strength to be fully present.

Perhaps with this leaf feeding the soil, the grass is actually greener on my side. The otherness, the over-there, the perpetual longing for the next plot of land is routed back to my side of the fence. Here, now, this is the best place to be.