There’s a tree in our neighborhood, one that I pass by each afternoon on my daily two miles. It’s nothing extraordinary: just a small but sturdy maple in amongst the oaks, tulips, and occasional pine. This summer, though, it seemed to produce the most glorious leaves, deep green and striking, so soft to the touch.
Most would attribute such vividness to the perfect combination of sunlight and rain. I like to think God’s hand played a part as well.
Once late September arrived, the transformation of those glorious leaves began on my favorite, ordinary maple. The conversion from vibrant green to the warm color code of autumn seemed slower, more intentional than usual as the weeks passed and I observed this tree each afternoon. A reddish orange, reminiscent of my childhood crayons, inched upward on each separate leaf, transforming them gradually, individually. One day, a branch held a majority of green, while the next, it flushed with leaves boasting a hint of crimson. Some changed, others were hesitant—a phenomenon of nature, again touched by God’s hand.
During the week when these leaves approached what meteorologists consider the “peak” of autumnal color, I began praying a Novena to St. Faustina in preparation for a women’s retreat the following weekend. Fifteen of us planned to gather one Saturday for a day of prayer and reflection. Some I knew, many I did not, but we were united in our desire to increase our faith and be inspired by the message of divine mercy.
Each afternoon, in the days leading up to the retreat, I witnessed the transformation of our maple leaves, and each evening, I prayed, asking for a transformation of my own: “Merciful Lord, with the words of St. Faustina and together with her, I ask you to transform my life into mercy. I want to be completely transformed into your mercy and to be your living reflection, O Lord.”
Throughout that week, I contemplated how, through the intercession of St. Faustina, I could offer more words of comfort to others, be of more service to my neighbor, and better recognize ways to soothe one’s pain and suffering. Such transformation, I knew, would not happen in a single weekend, a single retreat. But it was a start. Through discussion, reflection, and guided meditation, I saw that, like the maple tree and its leaves, we were not extraordinary women, only ones looking to God to be transformed into something more, maybe something better, than who we were. And that takes time.
St. Faustina, I came to realize, believed that mercy should be a fundamental part of how people treat others, defined, in part, by the beauty of patience. While we see that in so many facets of our lives, we see it also in the beauty that emerges each autumn through the transformation of the leaves surrounding us. That, too, cannot be rushed as it takes on a beauty of its own, radiating a brilliance masked during summer months, one that only God could create.
Sitting on the grounds of the retreat center, beside a maple tree not unlike the one I’ve admired, I prayed the words of St. Faustina: “O Lord, transform me into yourself, for you can do all things.”
