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One Autumn day, I took a forest walk to observe the colors of the shifting season. Along the path, a vibrant leaf on a tree branch caught my eye, its red hues a striking contrast from the sea of green surrounding it. It made me wonder: Why did it draw my eye more than its neighboring leaves? What was it about that leaf in particular that made it stand out? It stood out because it appeared distinct from the others. It occurred to me that the leaf which underwent the process of change held the greatest salience. By its nature, a leaf releases its bygone layers, allowing for rebirth in a new season. I wonder if our nature requires the same of us. It reminds me of the famous quote by C.S. Lewis about God building a palace: “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” Lewis illustrates a picture of change that seems painful. I imagine God ripping out the foundation of pride, tearing down walls of self-sufficiency, disconnecting old wirings of vanity, and clearing away outdated fixtures of culture. Once He eradicates the old, God straightens the cracked and shifting foundation, rewires the internal systems of our desires and thought patterns, establishes a new structural framework of grace and truth, and puts up restored walls with the vibrant hues of His mercy and love. God brings about more than surface-level modifications for cosmesis alone. He is shaping something brand new from the ground up. In 2 Corinthians 3:18, the Apostle Paul writes, “And we all, with unveiled faces, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” "From one degree of glory to another” implies an ongoing, progressive molding to the likeness of Christ. God doesn’t plan to leave us in our present condition. Just as Jesus called Simon “Peter”, He names us according to His future vision, not by our current limitations. He promises to make all things new. In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis puts it like this: “If we let Him—for we can prevent Him, if we choose—He will make the feeblest and filthiest of us into a god or goddess, a dazzling, radiant, immortal creature, pulsating all through with such energy and joy and wisdom and love as we cannot now imagine, a bright stainless mirror which reflects back to God perfectly (though, of course, on a smaller scale) His own boundless power and delight and goodness. The process will be long and in parts very painful, but that is what we are in for. Nothing less. He meant what He said.” The most beautiful people I have met are those willing to let their former selves fade, paving the way for renewal. They’ve shed worldly ways of vanity, envy, pride, and selfishness to welcome the new work God plans to do in their hearts. Change begins with naming the patterns in our lives that must come to an end, involving those we trust to walk alongside us, yielding to God’s sustaining grace, and establishing alternate habits to replace our rhythms of the flesh. If we allow His mercy to inculcate our nature, we will emulate the beauty of the scarlet leaf in a sea of green. Photocred: Unsplash
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