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| Stretch Its Branches |
A tree, it grows
and stretches, never giving up its incessant attempt to touch the heavens. It holds steady with the seasons, blooms in
the spring and flourishes through the summer.
With the approach of fall, the chills and the wind, it hunkers down for
the approach, the challenge ahead.
Steady at work it stores up its strength. It gives up its leaves, renouncing its beauty,
continually focused forward on the waiting sleep ahead. With winter comes the storm, snow and the
hail. The feel of endless cold and
relentless dark persists. Waiting and
still, the tree patiently sleeps, persevering and holding on for the return of
spring. It never gives up or runs away,
it remains rooted and strong, feeding on the storehouse within.
As the tree, life
encounters seasons, times of joy and times of pain. In times of summer and warmth, I stretch out
my branches as the tree and dance with the clouds. But in times when cold and bitterness attach,
they bite at my roots and pull at my limbs. Do I stand strong and steady, do I
hunker down and wait for the return of spring.
Do I feed on the storehouse within or do I starve and wither? Do I bring in the nourishment of life or do I
waist away in death?
The tree pushes
its roots, breaking slowly through the rock and the soil. It pulls in the water of life and minerals of
strength. It works tirelessly through
the summer making its food. It works persistently
to store for the long winter ahead. It
pulls in the air, basks in the light, diligently at work on the task at hand. It works in secret, only for its maker to
see. The eyes of the world cannot see
its labor but only its beauty. They envy
its size, longing for its splendor but unknowing of its tiresome work.
I am the tree and
God is my gardener. He plants me in
fertile soil and brings waters to my roots.
He pours out sunlight over me and blows fresh air through my branches. He keeps me rooted and tends my limbs. He binds His Words within my depths and
stores up his strength with my limbs.
I work day and
night within the seasons of feasting, not to squander away or waste the hours
but to store up my soul for the long winters ahead. I feast on Your Word and drink of Your
spirit. I toil and tire to continually
be filled with Your nourishing Life.
I
am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears
much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing. John 15: 5 (NJKV)
