The Tree

I have watched them, almost daily, for not quite three months.

Sitting in my rocker. Some days wrapped in a blanket, some days with my shoes off, always with a cup of coffee in hand.

Watching, gazing, soaking them in.

They are helping me in their silent, stately way.

The trees.

And as you gaze at them, day by day, you see the changes.

I have watched them go from winter: naked and gaunt, without hope. No sign of life.

And suddenly overnight they begin.

Flowers budding, leaves bursting.

An eruption of growth. Life.

Change.

With their beautiful, graceful limbs and their distinct and lovely leaves.

I see God’s hand in the changes.

 

The one right across from my rocking chair is my favorite.

I was devastated by it one day.

I realized that the pale yellow drifting to the ground was leaves, not flowers.

A part of that tree had died.

 

And yet as I have watched, the rest of the tree still grows around the dead branches.

Altering course.

Reshaped.

Changed.

And still beautiful.

 

If God can so shape the tree, He can surely shape me.