Rootedness

I know I haven't blogged much lately, not that there hasn't been much to say. There has been a lot to say, but sometimes I know I need to do less commenting and more listening. This has been one of those seasons. I just needed to be quiet and listen to the people around me who were and are still hurting. To God whom I needed desperately to hear. And to that voice that I normally hear so clearly--the inner one that speaks truth to herself, the cheerleader, the peacemaker. The very one that had grown very, very silent. 

Photo courtesy of Megan Findley.
Blurriness courtesy of a moving boat.


Sometimes silence is a good thing for me, but sometimes it can be dangerous. Sometimes, I stop talking not out of a need for clarity and solitude, and more as a self-imposed isolation.  There is a fine line and I don't always know when I am crossing it. So here I am, purposely speaking to keep that line at a distance.

Which brings me to that tree in the picture. The blurry picture that can in no way be attributed to Megan's poor photography skills. She is a gifted photographer, but boats move and pictures get blurred. We found this tree precariously perched on the bank of the Colorado River. It hadn't grown that way, but storms and the very nature of the river had done their best to take the ground from beneath this pecan tree.

I was amazed that it hung on so well, still growing. But I marveled even more so in the view it afforded us. It isn't often we get to see above and below at the same time. A literal cross section of that which represents life itself. And it got me thinking, if only people could be seen this way. We would be so much easier to love because we could see all of each other. We could see how deep our roots truly go. How far we are reaching out and down to hang on. But also how little we may actually have to hold on with. We could see what is thriving, as well as what is dying. We would know what to offer each other. And having no way to hide, we would reach out to that which is offered.

There is something to be said for having nothing to hide. But perhaps there is more to consider in the why we hide. Maybe we need to take more chances and lay ourselves bare like this tree. Maybe then, the why that infects us, killing us slowly beneath the surface, could be healed.  Then growing deep, digging into the fertile ground, we could find ourselves flourishing and understanding, finally, what it truly means to be rooted in Love.