A Season for Surrender
The trees know when it’s time.
Leaves shift from green to gold, from fire to fading brown, and then—without resistance—they fall. The air grows cooler, the light grows softer, and nature begins her quiet work of release. Autumn reminds us that surrender isn’t defeat; it’s wisdom. It’s trust in the rhythm of seasons.
“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck what is planted.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 (NKJV)
I’ve been reflecting on what surrender looks like for me this year. One small but significant shift was my choice to disconnect from my Apple Watch. For years it kept me tethered—counting steps, buzzing with notifications, nudging me to move faster, do more, track better. And while it served me in many ways, I realized that lately it has also kept me from listening inward.
Taking it off felt strange at first, like leaving the house without shoes. But soon, I noticed something: without the constant hum on my wrist, I could hear my body more clearly. I paused when I was tired, not because a reminder told me to stand, but because I felt the need. I walked outside not to close a ring, but to feel the crisp air on my skin and watch the light filter through branches. This, too, is surrender—trusting that my worth isn’t measured in metrics, but in presence.
Autumn whispers the same truth: there is beauty in letting go. The trees are not less because they release their leaves. They are preparing for rest, for renewal, for growth that is unseen but deeply essential.
“Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go.”
— Anonymous
Surrender isn’t about giving up. It’s about opening our hands—releasing what weighs heavy—so we are free to receive what comes next.
May this season remind us that in every falling leaf, there is both an ending and a beginning. That surrender can be holy. And that beauty often lives in the space we make by letting go.
Your Turn:
Take five minutes today to write down one habit, object, or obligation that feels more like a weight than a gift. How would it feel to set it aside, even temporarily, and give yourself room to breathe?
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