See all articles in 31 Days of Showing Up

I’ve always been in love with summer. The beach. The flip-flops. The tan lines. The laziness.

I rarely look forward to the changing seasons. Colder weather. Layers of clothes. Bare trees. Busyness.

But this year is different. I’m breathing in the crisp mornings and the not-quite-warm afternoons.

The gold and red leaves — the signs of dying — put a pep in my step. I’m changing along with the seasons.

I’ve started running consistently again. I’m back in therapy. I’ve begun taking guitar lessons. I’m showing up here for 31 days straight.

What is it about death that makes us want to live?

Parts of me have been dying for the past year. Leaving church has stripped me. The religious fluff has died and fallen away, and I’ve been left bare.

In the winter, we see what the leaves covered. The knots. The curves and twists. Dozens of tiny branches extending off one large limb.

I’ve discovered my faith is less than faithful. My core values were less of my choosing and more of conforming. My concept of God is shaky at best.

Somehow, even in exposure to the cold, the trees survive.

Maybe it’s in the cold, the harsh, the dying — when all that remains looks a mess — we survive and learn how to live. We learn to drink in the warmth of the sun on a cold day. We learn to stand strong when the clouds hover and the winds blow. We learn there’s grace to live through the dying.