Devotion 312 - ROOTS

It was one of those mornings.

The sky, the trees, everything looked so lovely I wanted to forever remember.  It was cold, but not frigid.  There was wind, but it didn't frost my face.

Every tree was painted with ice.  Everything: the snow on the ground, the sky allowing the sun to peak through each tree, every branch seemed frozen with ice.  It filled me with awe.

I wanted to capture it.  I slowed down so I could take it in.  Just the day before I had held one of these branches in my hand as it laid heavy with thousands of snowflakes.  Now it was hidden, although seen, with clear ice.

Every inch, every centimeter covered.  I peaked my cold fingers out of my gloves and ran them across the ice.  Everything sealed – perfectly.  Not even air could reach the trees.  They were frozen, at least for the moment, in wonder.

I looked at the sky, musing when the sun would warm enough that this glory would melt away, and I questioned what exactly the Father was showing me.

He can pour out rain from heaven and He can gently fall flakes, but this ice seemed miraculous and I didn't want to miss the miracle.

I imagined Him;  His love so intense covering every inch and every measure everything.  It was inescapable.  I wanted my hand to run up alongside the icy branch, so I would remember it when the sun decided to burn down on its crystal beauty.

I knew it would.  I just didn't know how soon.

I came home, my computer was already on.  My husband said, “Have you seen the news?”  No, somehow this morning I had skipped it.  I needed the frozen tundra to prepare for the week.   A shooting - not in a faraway town I had never heard of.  No, this one was in a city that I have lived.  In a city I have loved;  a city where I found my husband.  

Senseless -  the covering started melting.

Then I had a conversation with a mother.  I could hear the heart break over her child, then an email: another mother and more heartbreak.  I felt as if I was watching a terrible storm of terror and I stood holding an umbrella, unable to stop the squall.

Somewhere in that horrific shooting, somewhere in that heartbreak, fear had snuck in -  more melting, my heart now raw.  Where was the covering?

The image had been so clear.  As clear as ice. 

Strange, this. – was my faith this frail to melt like ice in the fire of fear?

 I was rising earlier and earlier as the days went on.  I have challenged myself to read more of the Word this year.   I have had every reason to pray more as well.

I went for my Bible and then saw the piles on the counters.  I grabbed anything I could put away or throw away.

I noticed the plant on my counter.   

It started in the dining room then moved to the kitchen.  There was something about this plant, something about its moxie to keep blooming even in winter.  

I walked passed it, then went back.  There was a flower bending off to the side, a flower that didn't belong.  It was shriveled and hanging pathetically off the side of the pot.

I snatched it out then realized it was Ava’s.  Her little daisy.  A gift from her dear little friend at church. It came with dirt as she had literally “planted” the cut stem.  

I took it in my hands wondering if she would miss it as I headed to the trash can. I held it to my face.  Frail but fragrant.  I brushed the dry petals off the counter.  Dirt yes, but no roots………

Everything seemed right:  soil, light, moisture, but no roots.

Paul writes that our inner strength is drawn from the Holy Spirit and that our roots must go down deep into the soil of God’s love. 

The winds of adversity cannot blow roots.  The storms of sorrow only make roots stronger.  The fire of fear shores them up and makes us reach towards Him.

I had looked on the outside for the strength I had so desperately needed from within.

As a mother holds her tiny child, the child’s roots begin to form.  The sense of love makes him or her hungry for more.  The hunger develops to know love always.  Maturity comes and with it the heart turn from parents to independence.  

The child, and now the adult wonders how this void will be filled.  

Then the Holy Spirit reminds us He is there within, waiting for more room to grow.

We take Him as our Savior, we confess our sins and He graciously gives us ALL of Him.  But then we must decide how much space we give Him.  We squeeze Him with stuff, selfishness, self sufficiency, and schedules.  Then sadness, fear, and doubt come uninvited and we wonder where He has gone.  We go back, we find our roots and we begin again with the water of the Word and nourishment of prayer.   For that moment, that glorious moment when we find Him, we want to freeze time, freeze peace and freeze love.  But roots, Beloved, mean growth.  We blossom for a season, fragrant and strong, and then we get whipped and worn but the roots - they remain.

And they reach for more of Him.

. When I think of the wisdom and scope of God's plan, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth.  I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will give you mighty inner strength through his Holy Spirit. And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts as you trust in him. May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love.  And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is.  May you experience the love of Christ, though it is so great you will never fully understand it. Then you will be filled with the fullness of life and power that comes from God. Now glory be to God! By his mighty power at work within us, he is able to accomplish infinitely more than we would ever dare to ask or hope.  May he be given glory. Amen

Ephesian 3:14-21