Leaves Cast Down

Like leaves cast down in autumn, and swept from sight by winds heaving, have been my plans. Oh, I had it it all figured out. What I would. What I would not. Do.
Like a sacrifice burning, I had cast my love of teaching women into a leaf pile raked high, smoldering even now. I would not commit to anything new, clearing my days for what I would. Do.
I would. Chase a fruit of my womb, busy grand-boy dashing from one activity to another.
I would. Write. A book, daunting, dwelling deep within. I would. Write.
And here I lay, cast down upon a couch, a bed, too weak, too weary to do. Any that I would.
Oh, I am familiar with words reeking with truth in Proverbs. "The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." (16:9) Or how about this one? "Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails." (19:21) Those have felt like paint splattered across the walls, familiar, harmless, not-for-me. After all, I had prayed. I "knew" what God wanted for this fall.
Yet, here I lay, the glimmering leaves of all that I would, cast down. And I peer into sky, blue and empty. What now? What purpose does this serve?
I find myself relentless in efforts to rise, to do. And my God, He lays His hand, firmly, upon my chest. "Rest, Child. Rest." Until my efforts cease and I am left with tears streaming, heart-wounds exposed, unable to cover with all that I would. Unable to hide behind plans, determined.
Lies glare: "I. Must. Do. Or else. Be undone. Be Less." And I curl up, weeping, believing, that a Father's care, does not. Include. Me.
That is when Truth comes, shattering such lies, hidden. And I am scooped up into arms strong. I am held tightly, protected, safe, in my Father's limbs wrapped round me. Until I hear, pressed into His chest, His heart pounding a love song, for me. For me.
And I am undone by such love. Breathe catching, I realize. Leaves were cast down, by Him. To expose. My heart. To grant me. A clearer view. Of Him.
All that endless blue, of sky above?
That is merely a glimpse of endless love, for me. Even in my stark, plan-less state, in all my weakness and could-not. I see Him, conspicuous.
I marvel at the safety found in plans swept by winds, heaving. Marvel, that in skies, empty, God's purpose, for me, still stands.