As summer takes its final bow and autumn whispers its arrival, our senses take note of the changing season unfolding around us. Trees erupt in colorful brilliance, the air turns crisp, and the world feels quiet and reflective. The leaves will fall, the colors will fade, and bare branches will remain. Fall doesn’t just signal a change in nature — it invites a change in us. It asks us to pay attention, listen, and learn the gentle yet profound truths God is always teaching through His creation.

The season we’re walking into reminds us of a hard truth that Solomon wrestled with in Ecclesiastes 2:11: “Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun” (NIV). What we vividly see is that even the most impressive, beautiful things we build in this life eventually pass away. He looked at all He had accomplished (wealth, wisdom, pleasure, success) and it was like he had been chasing the wind. Like Solomon, we often strive to succeed, achieve, prove ourselves, and hold everything together. But in the end, are we holding onto anything that truly lasts? 

Fall gently teaches us what Solomon learned the hard way: Life under the sun, without God, is fleeting. Even our most brilliant seasons eventually give way to stillness. The falling leaves become a picture of our own limits and an invitation to seek something more eternal. 

Etched in my childhood memories are afternoons spent raking huge piles of leaves until they stood three feet tall. The satisfaction was next level until a brisk wind swept through and sent the leaves scattering across the yard like confetti, leaving me with slumped shoulders and sore hands. I picture Solomon in that same posture as he described his toil — momentarily fulfilling, yet ultimately futile. 

But what if the work we do was unto the Lord?

What if we built not just what looks impressive, but what lasts?

As the autumn trees release their leaves, they do so knowing that the sacred act is not a loss, but surrender. Trees don’t cling to leaves that no longer serve them and as they’re released, there is trust that new life will come again in time. What if we dared to believe the same?

Dig Deeper

As you step into the new rhythm of fall, ask yourself: What am I building with my time and energy? Am I investing in things that will last beyond my time? What is the Lord inviting me to release in this season? May the Lord’s wisdom abound in you as you plant and release. 

Prayer

Lord, as the leaves begin to fall, remind me that life is fleeting and fragile. Teach me not to chase the wind, but to seek You, the only one who gives meaning to my work and purpose to my days. Help me to hold loosely what will fade and hold tightly to You. Amen. 

Daily Readings

Flower Illustration by Lan Truong | Scripture Illustration by Frieda Ruh | This article was originally titled “Under the Sun” in the September 2025 issue of Peer.