Stretching limbs
Toward Heaven;
A cloudless summer sky
River clear and sparkling,
Ribbon of song
Storm clouds threaten,
The laughing river
Swells
A raging torrent;
The song now an angry roar
In the midst of this
The tree stands firm
Roots deep beneath the floodplain
Unmoved
Stretching Heavenward
Only kissed by rain.(November 2011)
I have been toying with what my next post was supposed to be for almost 2 weeks now. What I keep coming back to is my roots. I was reviewing some old posts earlier this week and came across this poem, attached to a post about the depth of our roots.
I have a funny affection for dandelions. I know, I know, no one wants these pesky little plants springing up in their lawns and gardens, but take a step back with me for a moment. Bright dandelion flowers are among the first harbingers of spring. No one minds if children pluck them. I've never sampled them, but I hear dandelion greens are tasty, and that the roasted roots make a fair substitute for coffee (although I'd argue that for some things there is no substitute). I have read that dandelions thrive where the soil is poor, and help regenerate it. What I do know is that dandelions thrive in the most inhospitable places, forcing their way through concrete, resisting gardeners' efforts to eradicate them.
I like that. Brilliantly showy, resisting removal, and gone to seed carrying wishes to the sky.
Maybe it's a bit of a stretch for you, especially if you've spent much time on your knees digging their seemingly endless roots out of the grass, to see them a a metaphor for resilience.
Often when we're asked about our roots we refer to our family trees, whether we dig into genealogy or put stock in our forefathers and mothers ethnicity, or we just know a little about our grandparents' stories. Maybe our families are sources of pain and regret rather than strength. Were you taught to nurse your wounds or dust yourself off and keep moving?
But for some of us there is a root system that goes even deeper. I was raised going to church every Sunday. I may have wandered from my Roman Catholic upbringing, but those roots remain, informing my personal faith today. It would be almost impossible for me to leave behind all that I was taught, and all I absorbed even when the Mass went far beyond my childish understanding. The need for reverence, and ritual, for the comfort of the familiar, even as I have stepped into a church (I won't say religious - because to my mind religion is about rules and not relationships - a weird point of argument I know) system that goes deeper, into a relationship with a very real and very present loving God. But I digress. I'm terribly good at that! When I got hurt this past summer I wound up in the ICU. It was expected, once it became clear I would recover, I would be there for several weeks. In a matter of days I was moved to the regular ward, and in just over a week (eight days, in fact) I was sent home. When the surgeon came in to remove the tracheotomy and discharge me asked about my support systems at home - both for my physical and psychological care, without hesitation I told him that not only do I have a great network of friends and family supporting me, but I know where my feet are planted.
I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, who I am as a follower of Jesus. I know that God loves me as a beloved child, and my feet are firmly planted on the Rock that is my faith. Like the precocious and tenacious dandelion, I will rise again every time life knocks me down, bloom brightly and spread hope and joy on the wind.
So, as the snow finally gives way and you begin to see those bright yellow harbingers of spring, when you see those tenacious leaves pushing their way through the cracks in the sidewalk, smile a little and take the lesson of perseverance. And don't forget to make an audacious wish when you blow those fluffy white seeds into the breeze.
