Some people just have a way with words, a breath-taking, sweep you off your feet, way. I never think of myself as able to romance you with words. Nevertheless, Emily’s post inspired me to try.
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School starts today. School stopped in May for summer break, and so I did too. Stopped the noise and made room for peace. Made room for longer nails, which may not seem like much, but it means I am not stressed and biting them, so it is big to me.
It rained a whole lot this summer here in Alabama. In fact I think it rained so much we didn’t do anything in July but stay home most days. Even though it rained, the days were longer, and it let the light into my soul. Tonight I sit writing with the window before me, and I stare at the dusk turning in to the night sky. The light captures only the outlines of the trees and their leaves. The leaves start falling in the front of our yard in July. I always watch the trees.
The kids – they are saplings growing into mighty oak trees. Through me, the Lord prepares them to bury their roots deep into good soil. He gives them water and light and manna to grow. Amazingly sometimes I am the water, the light, or the manna. Me little ole me just a small oak tree myself.
In October most of them will be yellow and orange, some red, then brown, and then bare by November. The view out my window will change and I will be able to see beyond the trees. In fact in the fall, I watch the trees in the back, where the wild woodland meets the suburbs, and I hold onto the colors for as long as I can.
A time will come when the saplings will be thrown to the wind, wandering, until finally they will land. I will nourish them and hold on until the time comes to let go.
When the trees are bare, so am I. For in the winter, my soul often aches. It longs for the light of summer to bring new life to the dead.
Perhaps my heart will break, but in the end, new life will begin, for we mommas raise ’em to leave us and begin again. Both barren we will be (me and my saplings) until the planting begins.
As the days go by, I see green tinges begin to come to the trees again, and my soul buzzes with excitement when the whites of the dogwoods appear. Spring is here. And at once, resurrection is too.
I with my rings will look and see my new solid oak trees standing by me, nourishing new saplings struggling, pleading, looking for the light. It will be found by the branch willing to bend; its roots will be cast where the water is plenty.
This year as summer fades into school, because school is a season too, if you didn’t know, I am not grieving its passing quite as much. One of the reasons for the quiet was the letting go of the struggle – in essence to “accept the things I cannot change.” I cannot change people, and I cannot change the seasons. They will always come and they will always go, until the end of days. So I am not longing for something more I as usually do about this time every year. In accepting, I am able to give thanks to the Giver instead of grumbling about what I wish I had. Each day, each child, I hug tighter and hold looser, knowing we are in His palm.
Just like me they will lead their saplings again and teach them The Great Command – loving the Creator with every ounce of being.
As I watch the trees, they tell me the days are drawing shorter, the years are going faster, and I must embrace each moment given as the Gift it is.
Are you a tree watcher?
What are they telling you?
How do you embrace the seasons?
Photo credit: Damian Gadel
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