Dear Ones,
I was only twenty-one when I painted this tree on a large used canvas. It recently came to my attention when Don wanted to put a print of it in the school auction. I let it go, but still have the original.
Newly married and still in college, I painted the gray autumn sky with discarded house-paint samples. A photograph of this tree had drawn me to paint it, and it still draws me because it captures something timeless—the mystery of letting go.
Ahhh, the blessed Giver of life! How incredibly blessed I am to have lived long enough to have seen and held my first great-grandchild, with another one on the way. I recently received a photo from my grandson of his beautiful wife at 16 weeks pregnant with their first baby, so that is still another one on the way. However, they all live far away in Alaska, so I must hold and love them from a distance for now.
And yet, at this very moment, one of my closest girlfriends is bowing before God as her family considers hospice care for her husband. Our circle of friends aches for her as she faces letting go of someone so precious and becoming a widow again.
Awake too early one morning, I wondered how much money I might need if I am left a widow again or need long-term care. Not to worry, but certainly wise to make a few common-sense plans. A reality I need to glance at occasionally—but I’d rather gaze at those glorious pictures of dancing on a flower-strewn hillside with my sweetheart! Somehow, someday I must let go of that fantasy.
In my gray-sky painting, small, wrinkled orange and gold leaves cling to bare branches as a cold autumn wind tugs around them. Blue-white frost gathers. Too soon, the tree will stand completely bare, having let go of every evidence of life.
My son and I recently had this conversation about life, faith, and what gets passed from one generation to another:
“My dear Jami, I’m going over my ladies’ Bible study and one question says, ‘Take a minute to thank God for an incredible person of faith in your life.’ I thought of YOU. Since Latourneau, when we anxiously communicated our concern about finances, you remained resolute in your faith that God would provide. Ever since then, I’ve witnessed your calm approach to challenges in a FAITH beyond my own. We recently watched the movie, “My Only Son,” the story of Abraham and his faith over so many years—truly inspiring!! I see that same faith in you and give God the glory!”
“Thanks mom, sometimes it seems that trusting in God’s plan was easier back then when life was pretty simple and I only had myself to worry about. Growing up we had amazing examples in you and Dad as you went through many difficult times. I’m sure behind the scenes it didn’t feel like strong faith, but that’s what I saw and what God used to pass it on to your children! Love you mom.”
“Oh, my dear Jami, your words are so redemptive to my soul and bring tears to my eyes. The Lord’s grace humbles me—undeserved favor. Our God is so good!!”
Jami’s words touched me deeply because they reminded me that our children are watching us, even when we don’t realize it. Each of my children has his or her own story of faith, struggle, growth, and God’s grace. I am so grateful for the many ways I have seen the Lord work in each of their lives.
Beneath the surface of a real tree, life remains and surges upward from roots hidden deep in the earth, covering the branches again with abundant green leaves. As seasons come and go, we so often have no idea what God is doing. What we experience as loss may actually be building strength in us—and in others through us.
Our children and others are watching our responses. We don’t always get it right, but must let go of our pride because God can even use our mistakes for our good and His glory. I cannot fathom that mystery!
This painting illustrates letting go of all we hold dear, even life itself. Times come when we must enter a season of rest and wait for another spring, when our Shepherd makes us lie down, even when we would rather scamper off into green pastures. We let go of our own will for His.
This tree does not illustrate despair, but hope for those who belong to Jesus Christ. Winter, or a hard season, is never the end of the story. Our hope rests in the One who is “the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.” In Him “all things were created,” and mysteriously, “in Him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:15–17). I know when I let go, He truly holds me together so many times.
It is taking me a lifetime to release my grip on this world. The losses of the last five years—losing my husband, remarrying, leaving my home, children, grandchildren, and everything familiar to move from the Pacific Northwest to California—have taught me again and again to let go. And then aging brings a whole new kind of release.
And we do let go. We will. As my wise-beyond-her-years, young teen granddaughter, Danielle, told me, “Death is fearful because we have to let go of all control.”
Wow. Maybe that is what we so desperately cling to—control. Why don’t we start practicing now? While we still have the ability to choose, we can release our need for control to the One who holds all things anyway.
This weekend is my birthday, and as bad as I am at math, I can tell you that 78 is closer to 80 than to 75! I was looking forward to having my daughter and her two youngest daughters fly here to celebrate with me.
Then her text and phone call turned anticipation into disappointment: the girls are down with a virus, and one has an ear infection. So here I am, practicing again—releasing disappointment instead of allowing it to have power over me. I am sad, but learning to let go.
The more we fight to keep control, the more weary we become. Lauren Daigle sings, “I tried to win this war, I confess. My hands are weary, I need Your rest. Mighty Warrior, King of the fight, no matter where I go, You’re by my side.” Yes. My Shepherd is with me, and His Word and Holy Spirit comfort me in every loss.
God lets us practice by releasing smaller things first: maybe youthful hopes and dreams. Lauren also sings, “Letting go of every single dream. I lay each one down at Your feet….” Then releasing our children one by one, the nest empties, our careers end, our homes, our strength, and eventually perhaps our health, dignity, and independence.
I do know this: God does not promise us strength today for tomorrow. So does it help to live in denial and pretend these things won’t happen? No. But when they do, I know God’s Word and His Holy Spirit will be with me, even then, to comfort me.
What if I am not in the habit of going to Him now as my Refuge and Strength? What happens when my eyesight fails and I can no longer read His Word? Will the memory work I’ve done before that happens be enough to sustain me then?
God tells us to be anxious for nothing but to pray about everything—even this. Jesus does not want us to worry, but it is wise for the young and the old, and everyone in between to make common-sense plans so we don’t worry unnecessarily. We can make wise preparations for the days and seasons ahead, before we become more dependent on the grace, mercy, kindness, and care of others.
“Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out! For who has known the mind of the LORD? Or who has become His counselor?”
—Romans 11:33–34
And yet, “we have the mind of Christ” (1 Corinthians 2:16).
Perhaps the mystery is not that we can understand it all, but that through every season we learn to loosen our grip—and trust the One who never lets go.
