I love trees and always have. Their beauty, their functionality and their impressive stature impress me, but most of all, I love them for their strength — their ability to weather many storms and just stick their roots in the ground a little deeper.
My earliest obsession with them goes back to my childhood. I remember collecting the big leaves from an old oak tree, sitting atop the pump house in our yard with my sister Sylvia, and constructing jewelry from them. We made necklaces and bracelets and wore them like queens with precious jewels. I inquisitively tried eating an acorn from that old oak once — not so tasty. I made feeble attempts trying to climb a tree like my cousin Willard. I could only stand on a low-slung limb, and even then, I was afraid of falling.
Deep roots
Later, I philosophized wanting my faith in God to be like that strong tree. I wanted to imagine my roots just digging deeper with each storm. Maybe it did.
I learned to appreciate the changes and the fresh beauty each season brought — the life lessons about the stages of life, death and resurrection trees taught. On my trips to the Holy Land, we always made a stop at the Jerusalem Prayer Center, a peaceful, serene respite from our busy sightseeing.
In a downstairs sanctuary, there is a striking mural that fills one wall. It is a colorful painting of a huge tree. On it is pictured a different fruit for each month depicting what is mentioned in Revelation 22:2: “In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.”
One blustery winter day, while traveling down Sand Mountain from Albertville to Gadsden with my mother, she surprised me with her comment: “Barbara, just look at the beautiful colors of the trees today.” I glanced over at her wondering if she had completely lost it. In the dead of winter, the trees were a painting in black and white.
Adorned by God
“Mother, there are no colors, only winter dullness. Now, they are pretty in the fall, but not now, I argued.”
“Don’t you see the gorgeous rosy colors?” Only then did I notice she was wearing a pair of rose-tinted sunglasses. I told her to take off her glasses and hand them to me. Then she saw the winter’s bleakness, and when I donned the glasses, I saw the beauty. Perhaps our perspective makes a lot of difference.
With the dawning of another spring, God is adorning the dead, black trees with spectacular life — blossoms of all colors. He is reminding me that just as I think my life is nearing the end, it is really just beginning. He’s saying to me “Daughter, you may die as the trees have looked, but I will resurrect you into a more radiant and a more abundant life.”
“And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil” (Gen. 2:9).
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