Hold On!

by Shauna Brown 

        I walked into the backyard yesterday and captured a last few remnants of fall for my memory.  I realize that winter’s chill is fast approaching and snow flakes are just around the corner.  

    I have always had a fascination with Autumn. I cherish my childhood memories of walking to school down Dearborn Avenue, lined with tall leafy trees. My friends and I frequently were late, as we found it so much fun to kick the fallen leaves, pile them high into mounds and burying one another, only to be discovered over and over again. I can still hear the laughter, and smell the earthy aromas. 

      I am renewed each Fall with sweet and savory memories. Golden and rustic leaves, corn mazes, and freshly picked pumpkins evoke great times of family gatherings and childhood carvings, canning seasons and apple cider. 

     Yet, this year,  while walking in my grove of golden beauties I felt an added feeling, a pensive one, perhaps a touch of melancholy. Lately, I have come to realize that I am fast approaching that Autumn, season of life. I have danced beyond the newborn Spring. My cheeks reflect the age of sunkissed summers.  

       I drew closer to a large tree and focused on a  few remaining leaves upon it’s branch.  I smiled as I voiced aloud, “Hang on, hang on, cling, just a a little longer. For once you drift and fall, you will settle and with the earth remain.” While looking at the leaves it stirred my thoughts to the story written years ago by,  O Henry.  He penned it in 1907, the Last Leaf.    A sweet story of a young girl, Johnsy, who has fallen ill and is dying of pneumonia. I understand well the reality of it's power and pain. Being sick this past week I constantly prayed for it to stay out of my lungs.

    Anyway, back to the story.  Johnsy has a view from her bed and window of a vine with leaves growing upon it. She observes that each day a few more leaves fall from the vine with the change of season and weather.  Being so sick, feeling little hope, Johnsy decides that when the last leaf falls, she too will die.  

     A neighbor living near by, is an old, frustrated artist named Behrman.  For years he has been claiming that he will paint a masterpiece someday. When Behrman learns of the young girls demise and her declaration about the falling leaf and life’s outlook, he is set to pondering.   Then, that night during a bad storm, with wind howling and pouring rain, Behrman decides to paint his best work. 

     The next morning  someone finds him laying helpless with pain.  His shoes and clothing wet and icy cold. It was later realized what Behrman had been doing.  A lantern is found and still lit, a ladder, an artist palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, some scattered brushes laying on the ground.  Looking upward revealed a masterpiece painted upon the wall. It was Behrman’s hope that Johnsy would always be able to see one solitarily, beautiful, believable, forever painted leaf. Hope filled Johnsy’s soul with faith and she, just as Behrman wished got better.  However, Behrman had been exposed to the harsh elements of the storm and lived but only hours.

     I love the story, and realize everyday I am surrounded by many people who are ever painting leaves for me. Even though they may not carry paint brushes, or climb the ladders,  they often share words to uplift, smiles to give acceptance, tucking messages of hope within my heart. While still others sit an listen.  

     We must all look around and realize that we all have masterpieces to complete--souls to save.  Thanks be to God that He allows us, encourages us, and always is ready embrace us.   Life is good and the lessons come, and each of us will enjoy the eternal masterpieces and seasons of the Father. 

Enjoy Your Sabbath!