ROOTED

ROOTED

I marvel at the trees we planted five years ago in our backyard. They have endured sizzling summers and freezing winters. Each fall, they release their colorful leaves; each spring, without fanfare, they announce life again. We give little thought to their needs, yet they thrive in grass and soil layered over limestone bedrock—hard ground for anything trying to dig deep. Still, they have learned to live, grow, and flourish right where they are.

Where do the roots find nourishment to strengthen the trunk, stretch limbs into branches, open buds, and leaves to sunlight, and create the oxygen you and I need to live? The question is as intricate as photosynthesis and as sacred as life itself.

What nourishes the roots that keep you steady, growing, and thriving—especially in rocky soil? How do you withstand life’s extremes? What is your light source? Walk slowly with these questions. Let the answers settle within you. Life’s most important truths are often anchored deep. Stretch your thoughts there, because when spring’s coolness becomes summer’s blaze and winter’s fury arrives without warning, knowing what feeds your roots will help you stand.

Last December, in Houston, I sketched the attached picture on a hotel postcard. It is now a bookmark for one of my daily reads. Over time, it became a quiet reflection of my own roots. The figure lying still on the ground reminds me that silence and slowing down can quiet the parade of thoughts in my head. The figures leaning against the tree speak of community. The pool of water and the sun remind me of the universe’s gifts—cleansing, renewing, and quenching what daily life requires.

One recent Sunday began just fine. By 4 PM, I was hooked on an EKG in the emergency room. By 10 PM, I lay in a hospital bed as fluids moved slowly into my body through an IV. None of it was where I imagined I would be when that cloudless summer day began. My husband went home to gather what I needed for the stay, and suddenly I was alone with racing thoughts. Years of practicing silence and slowness halted the parade. When he opened the hospital room door, I woke up.

Simply stated, my answer to the questions: silence and slowness, a village of family and friends, and a deep love for and an awareness that the universe supplies what my roots need to endure.

What is your answer?

Psalm 52:8

PONDER THIS THOUGHT: To know your rootedness is to prepare for your unknown.

THE ANSWER IS