Fall is a sober spin on beauty.

When out for a walk, I never tire of fingering brightly colored leaves in my hand. The hues are so intense that they seem more like a Photoshop project gone wild than a display of unedited nature.

But even as I cradle those leaves in my palm, I’m reminded of beauty’s brevity. Were I to scoop up any of those leaves and take them home, by nightfall, they would be curled, and by the following day, their intensity faded.

Whether a sunset, a full moon, or a newborn's face, beauty is fleeting. You can't package it, extend it, or in any other way preserve it. Not for any length of time. And that is the maddening thing about beauty.

Perhaps a culture like ours that seeks to "own" and "collect" merely exacerbates the problem. With the click of a mouse, we can have almost anything we want delivered to our doorstep in 48 hours—or less. So why shouldn't Amazon Prime likewise be able to deliver beauty that lasts?

But beauty doesn’t work that way. It is the unique gift of our creating Creator. He makes a new batch of beauty—every single day. Which is a really good thing because sin is in the business of destroying beauty.

Here’s the plain truth. You can’t own beauty or capture it. You can only:

• Thank God for it.
• Enjoy it for what it is.
• Worship the Giver, not the gift.

In the end, maybe the brevity of beauty is the reminder we need of the splendor of heaven, where we will at last gaze upon our beautiful Savior. In His kingdom, there will be nothing but beauty—a beauty that never fades.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

Ecclesiastes 3:11

At the age of 17, he was arrested and sent off to Buchenwald, a Nazi concentration camp in east-central Germany. Eric was sure his fate would be no different than the other 55 thousand who were shot, starved, or hung there. But he survived and was liberated by American troops in April of 1945.

Fast forward to 1948. Eric was now 21, and the brand-new nation of Israel was fighting a war for its survival against invading forces from Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. With the fire of the Holocaust still burning in his heart, Eric enlisted in the Israeli army.

He endured five weeks of training that lasted 16 hours a day, and then Eric and his platoon were sent out to fight. But on day two of the battle, their platoon commander was shot in the shoulder and could no longer fire a rifle.

Eric recalls, “They told me, ‘You’re taking over as Platoon Commander.’ When I asked why, they said, ‘Quite simply, there’s no one else!’” At Buchenwald, Eric had plenty of experience observing German and American forces. But nothing could prepare him for the battle they fought next.

“We came over the top of a hill and saw so many Egyptian fighters, I knew we were way outmanned and outgunned.” But Eric’s platoon persevered in hand-to-hand combat, notably where the Egyptians had bayonets and the Israelis had none.

Eric is now 98, sprightly, and still giving talks about his adventures. Asked about his most frightening experience, he chuckles and says, "The scariest moment was when I became platoon commander. In my fox hole, I lost control of my knees because they shook so much." But this was all kept secret from a fellow soldier, who interpreted Eric’s silence as strength.

"The spirit of the Israeli soldiers fighting that war reminded me very much of the American 1776 War of Independence. There was never a doubt. We had to fight. We had to win!"

Listening to Eric’s story makes me ponder the many biblical reminders that you and I are engaged in protracted spiritual warfare. There are moments when we all feel unqualified for the tasks to which we’ve been called.

But other believers are watching us, taking their cue from us. Even when our knees are knocking. Fight we must, and win, we shall! Not in our strength but in His.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.

-Psalm 20:7

America might be the land of the free.

But it is also the land of the loud.

Research shows that 37% of rock musicians have experienced measurable hearing loss. While hearing damage begins at about 100 decibels, rock concerts routinely clock in between 110 and 120 decibels. And many of our churches are not much better in the volume department.

My beef, though, is not so much with how loud we get but how silent we don't get. I submit that most evangelical churches (and those of us who attend them) are somehow uncomfortable with silence.

Fast and loud is fun. It feels good. Slow and silent? Not so good. So, almost all of our worship music is geared toward fast and loud.

But what does this say about us and our walk with God? It says our worship is more about our likes than God's character. The same Bible that commands, "Shout for joy to the Lord all the earth," also commands, "Be still and know that I am God."  Who could argue that we do a lot more loudness than stillness?

Tozer was ahead of his time when he wrote, "Religion has accepted the monstrous heresy that noise, size, activity, and bluster make a man dear to God. But we may take heart. To a people caught in the tempest of the last great conflict, God says, 'Be still, and know that I am God' (Psalm 46:10), and still, He says it as if He means to tell us that our strength and safety lie not in noise but in silence."

There’s a lot to be said for silence. It helps us unwind and creates the stage on which introspection can perform its good work. Silence is calming, slowing—an acoustic cousin to meditation.

William Penn, founder of the state of Pennsylvania, advised, "In the rush and noise of life, as you have intervals, stop home within yourself and be still. Wait upon God—and feel His good presence. This will carry you through your day's business."

I dare you to "stop home" at some point today. You won't have to tell God that you've come to Him. He'll know it—by your silence. 

In the last month, I've been privileged to participate in two remarkable reunions. The first was with my Junior High band director, now in his upper 80s. Then came an invitation to participate in a “Marching Mustangs” high school band event.

Our high school band director, also in his late 80s, flew in from Arizona, and we had dinner together. Then, we alumni rehearsed with the current band, marched out onto the field, and played the school fight song for the homecoming game. Under the bright lights, it felt like a time warp—like I was back decades ago.

What a blast sharing the evening with my brother, Tom—who played trumpet—and sister, Susan—who played flute and was the drum major in her senior year. The thing that shocked me was…. Okay, I’ll just say it.   Everybody looked old. Really old.

Granted, I hadn’t seen most of these people since Ronald Reagan was president, but still, I was caught off guard. (And just think, they all said the same thing about me!).

My state of melancholy morphed into full-blown sadness when I pondered the cause of all this—the lingering effects of sin. Not one hunky football player, not one cute cheerleader, not one homecoming queen escapes the reach of its wrinkle-making, hair-thinning, life-choking grasp. And then we die!

Ah, but for the believer, there's more to the story. There's a better reunion coming. In heaven, our lives will be restored, our bodies will be new, and—best of all—"so shall we ever be with the Lord."

Will you be at that reunion?

For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore, encourage one another with these words.

-1 Thessalonians 4:16-18

I suffer from an addiction.

Books.

I love the way they look, the way they feel—even the way they smell. I cannot pass up a bookstore, book stall, or library without perusing. And my biggest distraction at any airport is the spinning rack or sprawling stack of books.

Don't get me wrong. A Kindle is fun—and mighty handy. But there's something profound about cradling a beautifully crafted volume.

Likely, that's why Psalm 139:16 arrested my attention. David writes, "Your eyes have seen my formless substance; and in Your book were written all the days that were ordained for me when as yet there was not one of them."

Consider: your days are all ordained. Which means there's a plan for your life, a story arc. And if our days are ordained, it means Someone is doing the ordaining—God.

When you write a book, the publisher assigns you an editor who has the last word on everything: content, style, deadline, and even the cover. David reminds us that not only is God our Maker, but He's also our Editor.

Regarding the number of our days, there was a time when “there was not one of them.” Likewise, there will be a time when our days are no longer.

I have yet to read a book that doesn't have a front cover—and a back, a beginning—and an end. Likewise, in the plot line of your life, God will, at some point, say, "This is the end." And it will be.

Yet, in another sense, that moment will only be the beginning of eternity. For believers, eternity is our “story after the story.” But we have only a relatively few chapters here on earth to make a difference in that unending adventure.

I don't know how many pages remain in your narrative—or mine. But shouldn't those pages—every single one of them—be inked, underlined, and highlighted with stories of our courage, compassion, and Christ-exalting service?