A Beautiful Ending
Dancing upon the breath of God
“In such silence I hide,
a leaf released from the wind,
no longer anxious about the days that fall.
They must all fall, I know.”1
These days, the air smells of autumn — of damp leaves, of golden grass sweetened with the heavy dew — and the fields and forests are hushed with this soft, sudden realization. It is still summer, but white-blue mists cling to the silver sea. And the elderly man sitting in the cool air before the forest trail now wears a thick blue jacket as he dozes, determined to be outside despite the gray sky.
I wander the paths, my mind filled with all that is coming to be. Trying not to let the grayness of goodbyes creep inside, too. I could so easily retreat, like a sparrow in the face of frost, clinging to all I have ever known.
But I look up, and let out a breath.
Above me, leaves tremble in the wind, a bit shy in their strange new loveliness of dusky oranges and reds. There is something achingly familiar about their beauty. They cling to the silver branches like stars about to fall, twirling, twirling, twirling to the earth as summer whispers goodbye with the rustle of them. They burst forth in a blazing and generous glow, as if grateful for all the life they ever received, even as it fades away…
They are letting go and being let go. Gracefully, gently, dancing upon the breath that blows them away and bears them up.
They are beautiful in their ending.
And with the whisper of the leaves comes the breath of God, His words gentle as they float around me. Speaking of loveliness kissing the dust of the earth, of a sacrifice crimson in the emptying of its glory. A giving so complete, so surrendered.
He has always been giving the gift of Himself. And in this moment, there rests an invitation to union with Him as I let go, too.
For the love of God is a banquet, and His beauty…it beckons me.
How can I be anything else but endlessly grateful?
Reaching up, I pluck a golden leaf, and my eyes hold its lingering loveliness. With a smile, I remember the scene in Disney’s Cinderella (2015), where Ella is standing before the staircase leading to the castle. It shines a magnificent silver in the moonlight. Her face is quiet, awed, for her dreams lie somewhere beyond, and she has been given the glorious, magical hours until midnight in which to carry her courage towards that light.
She tiptoes softly towards the stairs in her glass slippers.
But then, she turns to her footman (who is greener than most) and whispers: “I’m frightened, Mr. Lizard. I’m only a girl, not a princess.”
He smiles, and the light dances upon his wistful face that still holds the lingering traces of magic. “And I’m only a lizard, not a footman. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Sun is dimpling through the leaves now. And I wonder…
Perhaps not all endings are meant to be sorrowful. Because there is a gentle, grace-giving God, and perhaps He offers these to us as a parchment on which to pen our gratitude.
The sunlight is richly warm now, caressing the leaves as if whispering farewell and hello at once. Life is like a single leaf, a gift too precious to grasp, begging instead to be cherished, given, and turned to a glorious gold by the sun. Let us enjoy it while it lasts, loving tenderly, deeply. And when we must let go, let us do so humbly, gratefully.
He gives and He takes away, and oh how He loves us. Let us bless Him still.
Let us dance upon the breath of a God who makes all things beautiful, even — and perhaps especially — the endings.
The Likeness of All Things, Collected Poems, Karol Wojtyła