October in Canada drifts in like a quiet sermon. Trees are ablaze with colour and release their leaves without resistance. They don’t struggle with surrender. They don’t cling to what once was; they trust the process of change.

And that, I think, is what faith looks like. A steady leaning into God’s faithfulness. It’s choosing to believe that His grip is sure even when ours falters. Because faith doesn’t mean we stop wrestling; faith threads hope through it, reminding us that even in the tension, God remains good.

We can bring God our unfinished stories—the chapters we don’t yet understand—and trust that He is still writing them toward redemption. His pen does not slip.

In the fiction I write, my characters often reach a moment when they must release what they thought they needed to make room for something far better. It’s a painful grace, that moment of open hands. And that’s what this season can teach us too.

What appears to be loss may, in truth, be the soil of renewal. Autumn isn’t an ending. Beneath the bare branches, new life is already taking root.

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