I am a tree.
My roots go deep. They keep me from swaying to and fro with the touch of the wind. They give me stability and nourishment. They keep me strong.
There are season when I deteriorate. I watch as my leaves fall the the ground. They gray of the sky matches the gray of my branches. But, even in this condition, I am still alive. I am hopeful, I have faith, and I hold strong to the notion that this season? is temporary.
Even in the depth of winter. Even at my lowest. I believe. My roots are deep, my faith is strong, my branches are sturdy.
And then, the same way the Sun begins to peak through the clouds, signs of life begin to appear around me. The green of the grass below me. The life buzzing around me, flowing through my branches. I am certain, at this point, that God has not left me destitute. God has not forgotten me in my misery.
A blossom of a flower. The green of my leaves. There are seasons where I deteriorate, yes. But! There are also seasons where I thrive. There are seasons where I am everything God has called me to be. The flowers show the beauty that they have been given. The Sun warms my branches. The birds commune with me. Excitement runs through my veins. LIFE has returned.
But, without my seasons of waiting, might I have not even noticed that first blossom? Would my eyes have been blinded to that first sign of life? Would I have ignored the first glimpse of beauty that God was showing me?
My roots run deep. They keep me sturdy. They strengthen my faith. They cause me to endure the darkness, and watch for the light.
There are seasons of death. There are seasons of life.
I prefer the seasons of life.