A Tree.

Veiled in time.
Without the nutrients of grace and truth.
A Tree standing and alone.
These branches have born up heavy things.
They have blown in the winds of time.
They have been tossed and turned and even forgotten.
Flooded and hailed upon.
Broken and injured.
This tree is dwarfed.
It has survived, for sure.
A few leaves and fruit still flourish within it’s branches.
There is a scent of beauty in its determination to stay and stand even in its disfigurement.
But It is truly gnarled and lacking the strength and beauty and clarity
of the tree it was created to be.
The tree it thought it was to be,
The tree it thought it actually was,
until the shroud of reality was abruptly removed,
revealing its true, gnarled self.
This tree was overlooked and neglected
hindering the process of growth.
Flourishing stopped at the points of injury, once upon a time.
Although the hands of time continued on in the real world,
growth was thwarted by wounds and stagnated at the point of its impact,
leaving this tree quite bare and alone.
So this tree is entering into a new kind of time.
For the pain of staying disfigured has become greater than the pain of new growth.
The time of digging and fertilizing for the purpose of redemption is at hand;
For the purpose of wholeness. For life.
This broken tree needs Time.
Time that encompasses reality as its companion.
and patiently and violently turns the soil,
leaving nothing unscathed;
Not even the buried stories of the heart.
As each painful tale rises to the surface of reality,
as each turn in the soil is examined,
life is then able to be poured into the deadness of this tree.
Bitter Root becomes integrated with New Growth
creating something wonderful out of the cadaverous.
A true, unencumbered and visible life unfolds.
This tree does not stand alone and still.
There are kindred garden keepers who have been let in.
They are companions of Bitter Root and New Growth.
They tread softly and sing sweetly
as their spades loosen the soil,
making room for the nutrients it always needed
but can only now receive.
Although the world of this tree is quite turned upside down,
this tree knows it is safe.
More safe than it ever dreamed possible,
even when there were no shovels laid at its base.
The tears and words and hugs of the garden keepers seep in,
for they too, are trees with their own stories of Bitter Root and New Growth.
This tree no longer lives in a false time,
trying so hard to be the tree it knows it was created to be, but cannot.
This tree is not trying to look like a tree at all.
It is just being a tree standing strong and confident;
sometimes against the wind,
sometimes dancing with the music,
sometimes offering comfort and respite to those near by;
sometimes bringing order to chaos.
…finally becoming the tree it was designed to be…
Standing in time.
With the nutrients of grace and truth
and not alone.

I am a tree.
You are a tree.
Where are you in this story that has been and continues to be my story?

I would love to hear your story!