It is five minutes before Friday is over, but I will still post. It’s been a long day, and one which has ended infinitely better than it started [I am at the beach with friends for a getaway; this morning I was greeted by demanding three-year-olds awaking an hour earlier than norm after a night of sleep that felt too short]. The weeks have been full; writing has felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford in between survival and to-do lists and conversations and work.
Yet I will come this Friday and join in this weekly rhythm of writing, five minutes on an assigned topic. Here I go …
It stands as a metaphor for life’s seasons and rhythms. Wintry barrenness, stark silhouettes of branches against grey sky remind me of the beauty of winter which can feel so bare yet it so necessary. Solitude belongs here. It gives way to buds blossoming in the glory of spring – of recreation, renewal, refreshment, life after death, resurrection. The life was at work in the barren branches, but that life was hidden until spring’s release. And then summer, ahhh summer. My favorite of seasons. Vibrancy; full green leaf flourishes; verdant. These are the peaks of life when all feels as it should; when life abundant is evident and overflowing.
But what’s most glorious in the life of a tree? It is autumn. Death on display yielding radiant hues of unmatched beauty. As a tree gives up its life; color reigns and the world radiates and shines. Trees take center stage as they move from summer to winter, from life to death. And isn’t it so in the life of a soul? That as I lay down my life, as I yield in the daily death of sacrifice, as I face what feels impossible, I will shine with the grace of my Savior. Whose death yields life for me daily. Whose death set the world aflame with glorious beauty of hope – that spring and summer will always come again.