I’m sitting outside on a chilly, overcast Saturday morning. As I look at the tree we’ve had since we’ve moved in I remember back when it was a 5ft sapling. It’s bark was baby-butt smooth and soft. Now its bark from branches down is gnarled, slit, scarred, and jagged.
It reminds me of life. As the years passed the soft bark split in order to make way for grow. From the places I whacked it with the weed-eater when it was young it has grown extra thick, tough bark. But the whole tree is not old and hardened.
“Mark this: Unless you accept God's kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you'll never get in."
(from THE MESSAGE.)
And where the bark is most disfigured it is closest to the roots. And even if you look at the roots themselves they are somewhat grotesque. They are not a pretty tangle as spaghetti is, but much more an ugly mess of matted hair. And yet this is what gives it stability, reaches into the depth of nutrients to sustain life especially in the death of winter.
3 We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. 4 And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. 5 And this hope will not lead to disappointment.
(from New Living Translation)
There’s the deep thought of Saturday morning. It sounds like the fan in my computer is dying. I better take it in soon.