“It was now just before the Passover Feast, and Jesus knew that His hour had come to leave this world and return to the Father. Having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the very end….Jesus knew that the Father had delivered all things into His hands, and that He had come from God and was returning to God.“ (John 13:1, 3)
“When evening came, Jesus was reclining with the twelve disciples. And while they were eating, He said to them, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray Me.”
They were deeply grieved and began to ask Him one after another, “Surely not I, Lord?”
Jesus answered, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with Me will betray Me. The Son of Man will go just as it is written about Him, but woe to that man by whom He is betrayed. It would be better for him if he had not been born.”
Then Judas, who would betray Him, said, “Surely not I, Rabbi?”
Jesus answered, “You have said it yourself.”
While they were eating, Jesus took bread, spoke a blessing and broke it, and gave it to the disciples, saying, “Take and eat; this is My body.”
Then He took the cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you. This is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will not drink of this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it anew with you in My Father’s kingdom.”
And when they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives.” (Matthew 26:20-30)
I can only begin to imagine the range and depth of emotion coursing through Jesus on this night.
Urgency? This was His very last chance to teach and instruct His disciples, and prepare them for what lay ahead.
Love? He tenderly washed their feet. He comforted them. He prayed for them, and for all who would believe in Him thereafter.
Dread? He knew that by morning, He would be arrested, betrayed by one of His own inner circle, turned on by the fickle crowds of Jesusalem, sentenced to cruel death.
Anxiety? Later in the night, we know that He shed His first drops of blood not on the cross, but in Gethsemane as He agonized over what was coming.
Sorrow? He told Peter, “My soul is consumed with sorrow to the point of death.” (Matthew 26:38)
Fear? In His humanity, He asked His Father that He might be spared the agony that He knew awaited Him.
Abandonment? He watched one of his inner circle walk out the door intent upon betrayal. He asked his remaining eleven friends to pray with him; he found them sleeping. Later, they would all run away or claim they never knew Him.
And yet, determination? He told His Father, “Yet not as I will, but as You will.” (Matthew 26:39)
“Now My soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save Me from this hour’? No, it is for this purpose that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify Your name!” (John 12:27-28)
The leaves are changing, they said way too early in August—and they were right. It started with a premature crimson splash here and there. But soon the green of summer was transitioning full speed to yellow, orange, brown and crimson of autumn. Fall was here.

I drive down the road in a windstorm, and a rainbow of leaves swirls down from the sky like confetti. This is their fate. Magical to me, the end of life for them.

Elusive as change is to nail down, however, there’s one sure thing about it, and it’s that change is as inevitable to life as autumn is to the circle of seasons. It will come. And sometimes that’s a fearful thing to us humans who like to map out our yearly planners months in advance and make our tidy little five, ten and twenty-year plans for success. Even joyful changes can create stress by throwing off schedules.
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8)
Farewell to shadows of bluebells on white chicken coop walls…
Farewell to pleasant afternoons hanging laundry on the line in the company of friendly toads…
Farewell to grasshoppers, and white trumpet vines, and all other such elegant pairings…

Farewell to barefoot days at the edge of the lake……
Farewell to the haunting serenade of loons…
Farewell to daisy bouquets made by small hands, and smoky sunsets, gifts from forests burning far away…
Farewell to cumulonimbus, those splendid, tall ships sailing by in the sea of the sky…
Farewell to restless, flitting warblers in green, green meadows…

Farewell to lush gardens decked in the thousand diamonds of sudden morning showers…
Farewell to the brief, warm nights, sparkling with celestial beauty and fireflies, humming with mosquitoes…
Farewell to all the sun-ripened berries hiding under the leaves…
Farewell to picturesque encounters on whimsical summer evening drives…
Farewell to all the babies, now raised and grown…
Farewell to dancing swallowtails in ballrooms of flowers…
Farewell, sweet summer; welcome, glorious autumn!
It was the fifth place I’d stopped.
A scoffer might call it a coincidence, but I know it wasn’t. I labor under no delusion that just because I tell God something I want, He’ll snap His fingers and make it appear—but I also know that He can, and sometimes will. I also know that I have never chosen to acknowledge God’s power and control, while admitting my inadequacy, without finding Him sufficient to provide the very best. Sometimes His answer to our problems is different than the solution we visualized in our mind. Sometimes, it’s exactly what we were hoping for—and more.
I don’t know if anyone else within five lonely forest miles heard me yelling my excitement and thanks, but I know He did—and I hope it made Him smile.