This morning was a quiet, rainy October morning in southern Indiana, the kind where the air smells like cinnamon and somebody else’s fireplace. You know the kind. The kind you don’t have to tend to yourself. The sky hung low and gray, the gutters were humming, and the whole town seemed to have agreed to move a little slower. I didn’t know yet that it would be a morning about God’s perfect timing.

I walked into my favorite coffee shop, the one where the mugs are a little too heavy and the chairs have opinions about how long you ought to stay. The folks who stop in are never strangers. The bell over the door announced me, and the smell of fresh grounds met me halfway, the way an old friend does.

The owner is a man who notices things. He pours a cup of coffee the way some folks pour out good news, with great care, a smile, and a song. This morning he leaned over the counter and asked if I had seen the tree out front.

Admittedly, I had not. I was too busy dodging raindrops and counting my steps from a parking space that was no more than a block away. My head was down, my collar was up, and my mind was already three tasks into the day.

The Maple Out Front

So I went outside. And there it stood, a maple a bit taller than the tallest man you can imagine, and of all its neighbors, only this one had turned. Its leaves were pale red with a bit of brown around the edges, while every other tree on the street was still wearing its summer green like nothing had happened.

I stood there a minute with the rain tapping my shoulders, just looking. Up close you could see every leaf holding its color like it meant it. A few had already drifted down to the sidewalk, little red postcards from a season the rest of the street hadn’t gotten around to yet.

Neighbor, I got excited. “Wow, look at that!” I said. “If one tree can change all by itself while the rest are waiting around, imagine what we could do. Imagine the change we could make in the world. What’s stopping us from changing our beauty?”

The owner just smiled the way a person smiles when he’s about to hand you something to carry home.

“Now, Andy,” he said. “Did that tree change on its own?”

I opened my mouth to answer, and then I closed it again. He didn’t say another word. He just went back to pouring coffee, humming along to whatever song only he could hear.

A Question Worth Sitting With

I sat a good while with my coffee, chatting with some neighbors, that question parked in the back of my brain.

The rain kept on. Cups clinked. Somebody laughed at the back table. And all the while that red maple stayed lit up in the front window like a porch light left on for the rest of the street.

Because the truth is, that maple never strained or pushed or made a plan. It simply listened to something deeper than the weather report from the other trees. It knew when its time had come, and it answered. God’s perfect timing set that clock long before the first leaf ever budded.

Think about that. No tree has ever called a meeting about when to turn. None of them checks a calendar, drafts a memo, or waits for the neighbor to go first. They trust the season they were given.

And I thought about how many of us look left and right, checking what everybody else is doing, wondering if we’re allowed to change yet. The whole street says green, green, stay green. But what if God is saying orange? What if the call on your life sounds different from the call on everyone else’s?

I’ll be honest, I’ve caught myself doing it more than once. Holding off on an idea because the block still looked green. Talking myself out of a change because nobody else was trying it yet. Maybe you’ve done it too.

Fred Rogers, the original neighbor, used to say, “You’ve made this day a special day by just your being you.” I believe that tree would agree with him.

Trust God’s Perfect Timing

So here’s what I’d like you to know, neighbor. If you’re being called to stand out, you don’t have to hurry it and you don’t have to hide it. Trust God’s perfect timing. Let the Gardener do the gardening. And when your season comes, be the different tree you were made to be.

The rest of the street will turn eventually. And I can’t wait until they catch up.

If this one landed on you, pass it along. Think of one friend, one coworker, or one neighbor who has been waiting for permission to turn, and send them this post. Sometimes all a person needs is a nudge from someone who can see the color coming in.

And if you’d like more quiet-morning stories like this one, you’ll find them at Positively Andy.