Thursday, April 30, 2009


I think one of the most important ideas to cross my mind in recent months is the fact of the seasonality (seasonalness? seasonishness?) of life. I think the young tend to feel like life is somewhat it never really changes, and you have to grab everything now, because nothing will ever be different.

I'm not saying I'm old, because, well, I'm just not. But as I'm heading into my fourth decade, things feel different. Life comes in seasons, and those seasons need to be, 1) appreciated for what they are, 2) used for what they are meant for and for all that they can be, and 3) not forced to be something they are not.

My children are young; I am always busy, always tired. The house is noisy from 6:45 am until 9 pm (and those in between hours are always up for debate). Culturally we are prepared for that time to be brief, a few fleeting years. I have chosen another path, and I expect the house to be full of little children's clamor for years to come. There is precious little time for personal pursuits, so little time for quiet. It is not a quiet season for me; if life was static, I should have a balance of noise and quiet for my while life - but it isn't. Someday, if I live and the Lord tarries, I will drink my fill of quiet and long for the noise again; I do not doubt that the quiet and solitude that I crave now will become its own burden in its own season.

So I treasure the season that I am in; I (try) to treasure the noise, and the messes, and the exhaustion of this time. I (always!!!) treasure the glorious gift to me that my children are, how blessed I am to have them and to be home with them, to know them so well and be so connected. I don't want to waste this season longing for another, only to miss it when it is gone. I have done it too many times - not this time!

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Old Tree

The pale stem curls
Through the damp dark ground
Lifts its seeded head
Sheds its outgrown crown.

Seed leaves open
Stretch high to the sun
White roots grip the earth
A frail life begun.

Rain falls, sun shines
Storms rage and wane
Roots probe more deeply
Stem droops, pushes up again.

Young plant grows
Stem thickens, leaves thrive
Young sapling rejoices
Strong, healthy, alive.

Years come and go
Trials by fire and flood
Old tree is now scarr’d
Has wept its own blood.

Old tree is strong
Has seen and has heard
Has swung the old swing
Has cradled the bird.

Seeds in the wind
From old tree are cast
He whispers a blessing
To the first through the last:

“My strength will fade
My branches will fall
May your roots sink deep
May you grow very tall.

“Trials will come
May your heart be strong
May you bend and not break
May your days be long.”

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