The morning after post-tropical storm Fiona tore through Prince Edward Island, I pulled on my rubber boots and rain jacket and went out to survey the damage. All night we had been battered by the fury of the wind and rain. I couldn’t sleep for the shaking of the window panes and the terrific cracks and thuds I heard outside. When the floodwaters receded, I made my way through the debris field and severed tree limbs to the patch of forest at the back of our property. With each step toward the woods, my heart sank a little lower. More than half of our mature trees had fallen or were leaning precariously, our towering spruces little more than reeds bent to the blast of north wind.
At the river’s edge, a giant spruce whose canopy had been a special place for our kids was laying flat. The whole root system had been torn out of the ground and stood stark, exposed to the air. I leaned against the scaly bark of the trunk and cried. This tree would never give us shade again, hold our ornaments, or lift its crown as a perch for a bald eagle. The evergreen branches would last the winter, possibly into summer, but they would soon turn rust and brittle, cut off from their source of life.
In spring we took a chain saw to its dying branches, which still bled sap—the last of the tree’s lifeblood. We left the stripped trunk, and the roots, which formed an earthen wall. On the other side of the wall, bits of soil and dead leaves still clung to the knotted mass of roots. I ran my hand over the maze of the system that had once drawn water and nutrients from the rich, riverside soil. They had begun to bleach in the sun, the tips crumbling in my fingers. There was no life here anymore.
The words of the ancient Hebrew poem rose to my mind: “Blessed is the one … [whose] delight is in the law of the Lord … He is like a tree, planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season, and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers” (Psalm 1:1-3).
Blessed is the one … [whose] delight is in the law of the Lord … He is like a tree, planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season, and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers – Psalm 1:1-3
When I think of what true wellness is to me, I think of the tree in this Psalm. A tree is living and life-giving when its roots are firmly planted in moist, rich soil. And it is the connection to my Source that has kept me alive and well through many different and difficult seasons, from a debilitating health crisis to the common demands of motherhood.
In all weathers of life, I’ve learned to remain rooted in the person of Jesus. He is the deep and living well I draw my sense of being, meaning, and purpose from. When I renew myself in His presence, I find a settled peace beneath shifting circumstances. I find strength to walk through the day set before me. I discover new ways to grow. I can even produce beautiful fruit for others. And when I begin to feel battered by storms of life and wonder what is this all about, I push down deeper and remember—yes, it’s love. Love is what’s here at the bottom of it all, holding me steady and connected. In this love of Jesus I am evergreen.
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