The Trees Knew Something I Didn’t

By Chris Craft 

Last November, I was grieving the loss of my dream job. 

My husband and I had worked together for over 25 years building a successful bookstore and cafe ministry for our church—the church where we fell in love with Jesus in 1987.

This was the church where we brought our little girl to Sunday school when she was only three—the church where, on my birthday in 1991, the pastor we loved so dearly dedicated our daughter and newborn son to the Lord.

Our beloved senior pastor, our shepherd, taught us everything we knew about the character of Jesus: His compassion, His caring, and His countless promises to be near us when the world leaves us shattered.

Our pastor often quoted Proverbs 3:5–6.

He enjoyed singing it to the congregation.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not to your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your path.”

Our shepherd retired a year before the church abruptly ended our ministries.

The new, much younger senior pastor had his own plans for the businesses we had poured our lives into.

Those plans did not include us.

Without warning, we were evicted from the life we loved and thrust into a frightening new season. My husband and I were both in our sixties.

The shock and the pain were almost too much to bear. How could this happen to us after we had so faithfully served the Lord? Sleepless nights and days filled with questions followed.

In stark contrast to the gray fog that had settled over our home, the colors of fall outside our front door were absolutely stunning.

My husband and I were in the daily habit of walking together on a winding, tree-covered path nearby.

A few days after our jobs ended, we stepped out to pray and take in the crisp November air.

The leaves crunched beneath our feet as we prayed, our fingers intertwined.

We thanked Jesus for the privilege of serving His people for so many years and asked Him to guide our steps into whatever lay ahead.

As we walked, our shepherd’s song began to play in my head.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart.

I wanted to trust in the Lord, but at that moment, I just wasn’t convinced that He intended for us to be hurt this way. We didn’t deserve to be cast aside.

It was all so unfair.

Lean not to your own understanding.

That chorus used to be so easy to sing.

I had known Jesus for 45 years. I reminded myself that He is a sovereign God. His thoughts are higher than mine, and He works all things together for good.

Still, I asked, “Why, Lord?”

Like Jacob, I wrestled with God as I fought to hold onto the beauty, fulfillment, and financial security our jobs had provided for so many years.

As Thanksgiving Day approached, I found myself in deep grief over all we had lost.

I clung to every promise in the Bible with one hand but stubbornly held onto anger and bitterness with the other.

Meanwhile, the trees that lined our walking path had taken center stage. 

Their buttery golds, burnt oranges, and ruby reds were an undeniable testament to their Creator.

We walked again through the carpet of crisp leaves, but this time their crunch faded beneath the unmistakable voice of Jesus. 

“Dear daughter,” He said, “I’ve seen you marveling at the breathtaking beauty of the autumn trees, but their wonder goes far beyond what you see today. For although the trees are now adorned in brilliant grandeur, at my command, each one will relinquish its leaves.”

Our walk was nearly over as the Lord continued.

“Every year, the trees let go of their exquisite crowns, fully realizing that in the winter, their bare branches will cast bony, unattractive shadows upon the snow. But they know that by surrendering their treasures to Me, they will be rewarded in the spring. Buds will blossom, fruit will be born, and their lush silhouettes will be restored. The trees know something you don’t, dearest Daughter.”

I could feel the Lord’s piercing eyes staring into mine.

“They trust Me, my child. Do you?”

My husband and I enjoyed a glorious, lengthy season serving God. Our ministries had blessed many and, like the autumn trees, those ministries were a testament to the Lord’s goodness.

That season had ended.

The winds of change carried away the beauty and comfort of our jobs.

It was time to emulate the trees and trust in the Lord with all our hearts.

One by one, I surrendered my own precious leaves to the Lord.

I let go of my pride and the arrogant belief that I knew better than God which path my life should take.

I wish I could tell you that everything changed the moment I surrendered to the Lord.

But winter never skips her turn.

My soul was stripped bare, like the trees. The days were overcast and dark as I worked through depression.

But something inside me had changed. 

I was no longer fighting God. 

The Son was still present on those overcast winter days—and He was at work preparing my heart for spring’s arrival.

Jesus had allowed my brokenness, yet He masterfully mended me and would gloriously refill me with the sweet wine of a brand new season.

My adult son was deeply concerned over my emotional state. For days, he had encouraged me to use journaling as an outlet for my grief.

Then one day, he made a suggestion that changed the course of my life.

“Mom, you should start a Substack,” he said. “You already know how to write. I really think it would help you.”

I hadn’t written anything in over 40 years.

I was an award-winning author in high school and college, but that all happened decades before.

And yet, as my son encouraged me, I heard the Lord tenderly assure me that He would guide me around this bend in the road as I stepped forward in obedience to His call.

Jesus wanted me to write about my heartbreak, my grief, and how I found life-changing hope when I placed my trust in Him.

I wrote my first post, A Bend in the Road. My son helped me edit the piece. He also told me he thought it was great. I wrote a second and a third post detailing my anger, confusion, and depression over our loss. I turned my heart inside out, allowing my words to paint a clear picture of my utter brokenness.

I also wrote about the enduring patience Jesus showed me whenever I allowed bitterness to creep into my posts and the meticulous care He took to put my shattered heart back together again.

I was becoming a new, refashioned vessel, fit for the Master’s use.

People began commenting on my posts, sharing their own stories of midlife loss. 

They said my transformation encouraged their hearts.

God was using my words to give hope to others.

I had surrendered my treasure to the Lord, courageously stepped through a dark winter and, as Jesus promised, springtime had finally arrived.

Buds were blooming and fruit was being born.

My Substack has grown into a vibrant, new ministry.

I now have the privilege of sharing my story and constantly reminding my brothers and sisters that “No eye has seen, no ear has heard and no human mind has conceived the things God has prepared for those who love Him” (1 Corinthians 2:9).

If you are going through a time of pain and loss this autumn, look to the trees.

Take a walk on a path carpeted with jewel-toned leaves.

Let it remind you to let go of the season God has chosen to end.

Your winter may be dark, but stand fast.

The trees know something you don’t.

Trust in the One who brings forth the spring.

Chris Craft

At age sixty-eight, Chris Craft knows that God is never finished writing our stories. When an unexpected job loss ended a ministry she and her husband had faithfully served for decades, the Lord led her back to writing for the first time in forty years. What began as a path toward healing soon became a new calling—to encourage others facing life's unexpected endings. Chris writes the Crafting Wisdom Substack, where she encourages readers to discover that every story ends with hope. Her first book, The Beautiful Detour, will be published this November. craftingwisdom@gmail.com Crafting Wisdom Substack    Instagram