Reflections on a Red Leaf

Two weeks ago, I went with my friend Robyn to the Fragrant Hills, aka Red Leaf Mountain.  This is the 3rd fall I've made this trip.  During our first fall here, we went as a family with Jim, and we were too early. Still green as the summer by mid-October. Last year, we make the trek with my friend Agnes and her boys, and it was too late. Yellow leaves, yes, but the red ones were gone.  This was going to be the perfect year.  I paid careful attention and asked several locals when was the right time.  Our trip was planned for November 4th. Unfortunately, the BBC reports that on November 1st, scientists shot 186 doses of silver iodine into the atmosphere and caused the earliest snow in our city's history. That morning after, I stared out the window and did not notice the lovely blanket of white.  I only noticed that my favorite yellow Ginko tree out our apartment window had dropped all its leaves in one day. As I feared, all the beautiful red deciduous trees at the Fragrant Hills could not withstand the blast.

Here's our attempt in 2007:

And again in 2008:

And from 2009:

Me & my friend Robyn

Silly girlies...

I love the 3 tiered look!

Why, you ask, do I care about the red leaves? Ah, there's a great story here. One of my lifetime's best. Forgive me if you've heard this 10 times and permit me to tell it again.

It was the fall of my first year in China.  The honeymoon phase quickly subsided as I settled into the realities of the COLD winter ahead.  At a deeper level, I was struggling with those things I had long known in my head that seemed suddenly distant from my experience.  God says He loves me, but can I really trust that? Yes, I know He loves me in a general, 'all the children of the world' sort of way, but me, individually, personally? I pondered this profound question one day as I walked home from Chinese class along my favorite tree-lined road. The only road where fall foliage blanketed the path, I drank in the beauty--tangy-orange, chocolate-brown and golden-yellow leaves, prominently sprinkling the roadway.

All of a sudden, I realized what was missing from this scene.  That's right.  No red leaves. I scanned elusively behind, around, and far, looking for the missing color.  Then I had this strange thought:  "If God really loved me, He would give me a red leaf."  And so began the schitzophrenic conversation in my head. "I don't need a red leaf to be certain of His love!"... "But He can do anything He wants, and certainly He could bring me a red leaf."... "Lord, do you think maybe you could?... "This is ridiculous!", I reasoned, though kept my eyes peeled all the way home for a surprise gift.  By the time I made it back to my dorm room, no red leaves had floated into my hand, and I forgot about the incident.

The next day, I had an appointment to meet a new friend.  Though we'd met a couple of times before, relational progress was dreadfully slow as my paltry Chinese couldn't break the barrier.  When I arrived at her dorm, she wanted to visit outside... in the rain.  We sat huddled under an umbrella, hacking our way through a painful conversation. Shivering in the chill with a poor attitude, I wondered how long I should feel obligated to talk before I could leave. Just as I began giving off my non-verbal exit clues, my friend said,

"Oh wait!  I have something for you. I have a friend who goes to a university in the north. Her city has a famous mountain known for its beautiful red leaves.  You probably haven't noticed, but there are no red leaves here in this whole city. Not one. We're too far south.  But she just returned from a trip to that mountain, and sent me two leaves.  As soon as I got them, I thought-- "That's strange.  I don't know why she sent me two of them.  Obviously, this one is meant for my friend Tracie."

With a broad smile, she held the leaf out to me.  Teary-eyed, I tried to explain to her in broken Chinese what she had just done.  Did she know what this meant?  Did she know how beautiful this simple gift was to me, 100x better than if I had 'coincidentally' found a leaf on the road the day before? Did she know how God put the leaf in the mail to her before the thought even entered my head? Did she know how God used her to orchestrate a hand-delivered, personal expression of His love to me?

As for this year's trip, there was a bright side. (And yes, we DO now live in that city where the red leaf came from!)  I had a wonderful time taking my friend Robyn who had never been. We took a ski lift to the top of the mountain and the kids enjoying frolicing in the snow. Next year, you ask?  Could we possibly plan better, waiting for the perfect combination of weather, season, and lack of government interference? Maybe. But I won't hold my breath.  I imagine-- planted around my house in heaven are hundreds of red maple trees.

"What a great story," you say. "So nice He would do that for you but He'd never do something like that for me."  Did you think that?  Let me confess that my heart lives in those cynical places on many days.  For every glorious red leaf moment, there are many more of none. Many days of unspectacular, ordinary faith. Or others days of stormy hold-on-for-dear-life flickering faith. Press on! His more miraculous work in us is learning to see by faith what we cannot see with our eyes. May He grow our hearts to unswervingly trust His unfathomably deep love for us in Christ, more lavish and grand than I felt the day I first held that simple red leaf.