I love Autumn—the crisp air, the vibrant colors of the changing leaves, and hiking through the mountains. In fact, if we had ever had a daughter, I always dreamed of naming her Autumn.

Life has seasons, too. It took me far too long to truly grasp that. And honestly, I’ve never been fond of those “autumn” seasons in my life. There’s something about them that feels like a chapter closing—something I’ve cherished coming to an end—with a harsh winter looming ahead, waiting to arrive. The unknown that accompanies those transitions is always hard for me. I’m someone who craves control, and I’m coming to realize that it’s one of my most persistent struggles. I tend to try and grasp things that I’m never meant to hold so tightly.

This painting, for example, was the first one I created after a serious injury to my right hand—the hand I paint with. During the months of recovery following surgery and physical therapy, I had to surrender my fears, insecurities, and my ability to do simple tasks on my own. Being right-handed, I didn’t know how much mobility I would regain in my hand, or if I would ever be able to do the things that once brought me such fulfillment and purpose. It was an Autumn season for me—marked by the fog of fear and doubt hanging over my heart.

During that time, I read an old Puritan book from the 17th century, The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment by Jeremiah Burroughs. His words were a lifeline: “We must not have hearts hurrying up and down in trouble, discontent and vexing, but still and quiet hearts, if we receive mercy from the Lord. If a child throws and kicks up and down for a thing, you do not give it to him when he cries like that. First, you will have the child quiet. Even though you may intend to give it to him, you will not until he is still, content, and calm. And so it is with the Lord. As soon as we want something from God and can’t have it, our hearts are immediately in turmoil. But God says, ‘I will see you quiet first, and then in the stillness of your heart, come to me, and watch what I will do with you.’”

In the midst of that Autumn season—where everything seemed uncertain and hard—I had to learn to be still before the Lord. I had to learn to rest in Him, to trust that He was sovereign even when I couldn’t see what He was doing.

2 Corinthians 12:9 became a source of hope during that season: “ But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.