It's autumn in the mountains of western North Carolina! We are in the midst of our first season here, and the changing colors are extraordinary. As southerners (and even Caribbean islanders for awhile), neither of us has had this experience before. We've seen photographs galore, but we had no idea how totally inadequate even the best of them are to convey the in-person experience of the vibrancy and variety of real-life immersion in the changing colors. We did a leaf-viewing exploration of the Blue Ridge Parkway a couple of days ago - it took only a couple of hours for us to become so saturated that we just could not take any more in. What richness, what beauty, what grace!

My eye has been drawn to the most dramatic trees - those solid-colored ones of almost-searing yellow, or flame-like red or orange. They are breathtaking. But I’ve also begun to notice some of the lesser colored species, and how they suddenly seem to take on a new importance in the context of their brightly colored neighbors. They used to be almost invisible to me, and now they stand out proudly but quietly before their colorful backdrop.

I recently sat for awhile in front of a multi-colored tree - part of it had turned red, part of it orange, part of it yellow, and part of it still green. This work-in-progress, I thought, just isn’t quite as beautiful, I don’t like it as much. My eye went searching for another tree that was more complete in its transformation. Something that to me appeared more perfect. But I kept coming back to the “incomplete” tree; and while staring at it, I began to listen in on a nearby conversation between two people who were obviously at different stages of their own transformations, people who each wanted to do and be their best in their lives, but who saw that “best” in very different ways. Neither of them seemed to appreciate the other’s timing or process, and perhaps both were dissatisfied with their own as well. But it seemed they each were committed to being in each other’s lives, if only they could allow the space for each other’s individual process of transformation. I saw them like the leaves on that incomplete tree, each looking very different, each progressing in their own way and at their own pace. I saw that when I removed the expectation that all must match my version of perfect color, the diversity of leaves became even more beautiful to behold, the subtleties and interactions of the colors even more exquisite. I whispered a little prayer that those two people might do the same.

That is of course the very nature of the human experience. We're all changing, all of the time. Yet none of us changes in the same way or at the same time, although we are all parts of the same tree. Our combined efforts may create a blotchy mess along the way, but together we create the colorful mosaic that is our constantly renewing life. So now, with the lesson of the leaves inside me, I find myself actually seeking out those works-in-progress, both in trees and people. I find myself truly grateful that my world is not filled with perfectly complete colors, but that it's all of us together, each progressing in our own ways, each playing our part in creating the beautifully changing seasons of our lives.