The Tree

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)