The Falling Leaf

Finding Life in What Fades

A leaf falls to the ground.

Maybe it falls slowly.
Maybe the wind takes it a bit quicker—maybe even a bit farther.
Maybe it doesn’t hit the ground right away but hangs out for a moment—caught on a branch, or resting on another leaf.

But eventually, it makes its way to the place it was destined for—the ground—to decay and disappear.

The thing is, no one has ever known which leaf was the first to fall each autumn. Maybe someone, somewhere, saw that first leaf flutter through the crisp air, but they didn’t realize it was the first. They didn’t stop to notice its quiet significance. They just saw it… and moved on.

It’s interesting, isn’t it?
The most significant things in life often go unnoticed.
And the things we do notice are often far less important than the quiet, hidden moments that actually shape our world.

We could say the same thing about the last leaf of the season.
It’s just as meaningful as the first, but no one ever knows which one it is.

Tonight, I’ll go home and spend a few moments blowing leaves in my backyard. Tomorrow, I’ll do it again in the front yard. It’s a rhythm I’ll repeat until the last leaf falls in my little corner of the world—a leaf I’ll never see. But I know it exist.

Just like the first.

Each—the first and the last—gets lost among the countless leaves that fall in between.
And once a leaf hits the ground, you can’t tell which branch it came from. Its origin, its story, its journey—all lost as it blends into the mass of fallen color beneath our feet.

Every now and then, a leaf gets lucky.
Someone picks it up, presses it into a book, and keeps it there—preserved for a while.

But even those collections don’t last forever.
No one passes down “Grandma’s leaf collection.” And if they did, there’s not much value in it. You can’t sell it. There’s no auction for “historic leaves.”

Even when a leaf becomes part of art—pressed into a frame or sealed into resin—it still fades. The color dulls. The veins dry out. The art itself eventually crumbles.

In the world of leaves, nothing lasts forever.

And that, I think, is the way human life works too.

We live.
We blend in.
And eventually—we’re forgotten.

Even the people we still remember from centuries past—kings, poets, inventors, heroes—will one day fade into obscurity. Time erodes memory. Civilizations rise and fall. What once felt eternal becomes just a name in a book, or even less.

Every person ever born has a destination with the ground.

Our accomplishments, our influence, our dreams—all the things that mattered so much to us—fade as quickly as fallen leaves in the wind.

King Solomon was right:

“I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.”
— Ecclesiastes 1:14

That sounds heavy, but there’s a truth tucked in there: since life is fleeting, the best thing we can do is to truly live while we can.

Enjoy our work.
Enjoy our rest.
Enjoy our families, our hobbies, our laughter, our meals, and our moments under the sun.

Because that’s really all we have in this life.

But the falling leaves whisper something else—something hopeful.

Every leaf that falls—the first, the last, and all the ones in between—points to a promise: new life will come again.

When spring arrives, new leaves will sprout where the old ones once hung. It’s not the same leaves returning; they’re new, fresh, and full of life.

Just like us.

The difference between us and the leaves, though, is profound.
When leaves fall, they cease to exist. Their story ends in the soil.

But when we fall—when our lives reach the ground—it isn’t the end.

We were made for more than the dust.
Through Jesus, death becomes a doorway, not a destination.

He said,

“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.”
— John 11:25

That’s the hope that sets us apart from everything else in creation.
What we do with Jesus on this side of life determines what kind of life we’ll experience on the other side.

If we reject Him, there are consequences that can’t be avoided.
But if we receive Him—if we trust Him—there’s an eternal spring waiting for us. A new life. A new beginning.

A life where we will never fall to the ground again.

So maybe the next time you see a leaf fall, slow down.
Watch it drift.
Think about where it came from, where it’s going, and what it represents.

It’s a quiet reminder that everything in this life has its season—but through Christ, when your season ends it will give way to new life. A season that will last forever.