It’s that time of the year here, Autumn. It’s when I hear the sound of acorns falling from our tree. it is when our driveway and garden are strewn with hundreds of acorns.
For me, this year, these falling acorns remind me of Lent. Lent is when we journey through the wilderness of our hearts, letting go of what weighs us down, in order to receive the life Christ offers through His death and resurrection.
Recently I’ve noticed something beautiful in our garden – the tiniest little oak trees—small, determined shoots—growing in the most unexpected corners of the garden. They weren’t planted intentionally, rather where an acorn has fallen, it has buried itself in the earth.
It’s the acorn’s surrender that gives life to the oak.
That tiny acorn, when it drops, carries within it all the potential for greatness. But for that potential to be realized, the acorn must split, must be buried, must die. Only then does the transformation begin—quietly, underground, unseen. And eventually, a shoot breaks through the surface.
Isn’t that Lent?
We’re invited to let go, to die to ourselves in small and sometimes painful ways. To allow old habits, comforts, and even dreams to fall to the ground, trusting that God will bring new life from what feels like loss. We often want growth without surrender, resurrection without death—but nature reminds us that the path to life is through letting go.
In those tiny oaks I see God’s promise: that nothing surrendered to Him is ever wasted. What looks like the end is often the beginning.
So this Lent, I’m watching the acorns. I’m remembering the life that springs from surrender, and the beauty that waits just beneath the surface of letting go.
May we, too, be brave enough to fall, to break, and to grow.
Blue Skies & Lollipops 