The Leaves of Lent
Salt Fork State Park, Feb. 2026
It's the beginning of the end of winter. The melting snow reveals patches of grass and all the balls in our backyard that lay right where our dogs left them. I wait in hope for Spring but sense a resistance to the regeneration of life. Dried, curled, fragile leaves remain attached to the tree limbs on which they sprouted and now stubbornly hang. A phenomenon known as marcescence, the leaves remain tethered to a bough and linger for as long as possible throughout the winter. It reminds me of the human struggle to cling to unhelpful beliefs or unhealthy habits, sometimes refusing to let them die and fall to the ground. In order to make room for renewal, new growth nudges them out.
I’ve been scanning the trees near my home in search of these straggling leaves. The oak tree out front is full of them. I want to say, “Just let go.” In my impatience for Spring to arrive, I ignore the natural order and the time required to make the transition from death to new life. I feel the tension between the “slow work of God” and my impatience. The leaves will fall in good time. For humans, though, we can hold on to what is dead far longer than is good for us.
In light of the Lenten journey, I wonder about my long-held beliefs and stubborn notions that seem to keep God and the people in my life at a comfortable distance. I’d like to try to let these leaves die and fall to the ground. I, too, have many dead leaves on my tree.
Sometimes my stubbornness prevents me from trusting good advice. I can lean on my self-reliance to a degree that I won’t admit that I need help or someone to lighten my load. Busyness can keep me from committing to time for prayer or exercise. I struggle to feel worthy of God’s love just as I am without needing to earn it.
I have many leaves on my tree, and at different times in my life, I have refused to let these leaves fall. Even today, I feel the nudge to let go of what hinders my freedom to be the beloved child of God I was created to be.
The good news is that new life does emerge from the fall. Jesus’ resurrection assures us of renewal and redemption. Even when we get a little push, God’s grace encourages us to trust in his goodness and eternal mercy. Trust, fall, and then we rise.
Call to Action: Questions for journaling to consider when you walk outside and notice the dead leaves swaying in the wind: What dead leaves am I clinging to? What leaves must die and fall so that I make room for the birth of something new?
In the comments below, share what resonated with you in this musing.
