Jeremiah 17:7-9
7 Blessed are those who trust in the LORD;
the LORD will be their trust.
8 They are like a tree planted beside the waters
that stretches out its roots to the stream:
It does not fear heat when it comes,
its leaves stay green;
In the year of drought it shows no distress,
but still produces fruit.
— NASB
Trees in the desert are not like trees in the east. In the desert they are few
and far between, limited varieties and some, like the Joshua Trees in the
Mojave desert, are not even trees at all.
Growing up in North Carolina, I always took the abundance of trees for
granted and found them comforting and lovely. Therefore, I was stunned
when I met a young man from Iowa once, who told me that traveling in
the southeast was claustrophobic for him. I was incredulous when he said
that trees visually closed in on him as he traveled along the interstates,
and he missed an unobstructed view of the land out his window. (An
animated visual of my proverbial head blowing up, would be appropriate
here.) Disrupting and even shattering personally held beliefs and
universal norms is one of the values of travel. That guy would have loved
this trip.
Zion National Park, Utah
With its scarcity of trees, the desert landscape felt like all the Sunday
School pictures I grew up with. I could easily imagine the disciples
walking along, chatting with Jesus. It was sandy, rocky, and barren with
some palm trees and cactus that broke up the picture . The “unobstructed
view of the land” made the trees so very noticeable and noteworthy.
But in the desert, the trees that have fascinated me the most are the
cottonwood trees. They have long been romanticized in western movies,
books, and songs. If you see a row of cottonwood trees, then you know
you have found water. It is predictable, yet surprising, every time. When I
look across a desolate valley and see a meandering line of trees, I always
want to sing,
” I shall not be, I shall not be moved, like a tree that is
planted by the water, I shall not be moved.”
I thought I knew what a cottonwood looked like, they were tall for desert
trees, they had deep green foliage and released their seeds in a haze of
cottony fluff that covered the ground and traveled in the air downstream.
As fond as I had been of cottonwood trees, I had never seen them in the
winter, heading into spring. I did not know that they were deciduous. I
guess I thought they were always green. I did not know that like all
seasonal trees, dropping, and standing naked and vulnerable. Then they
were resurrected in the spring as pale green shoots, with promise come
summer that they would once again be the vibrant mighty green
cottonwoods by the stream.
Somehow that comforted me. It buoyed my wounded spirit to know that
even these trees, which pointed the desert traveler to water, which
survived against all odds and would not be moved when planted by the
water, had seasons, too. They were not always green and strong. They
experienced loss and stood naked and then slowly regained their strength
and put forth timid leaves. Eventually those leaves came into full bloom,
only to know that they would live those seasons again and again. Yet they
were created to stand by the water that provided them what they needed
to keep on and not be moved.
It is important to acknowledge and understand that no one, not one of us,
can avoid seasons of sorrow and pain. It is not a weakness nor a
punishment: it is a season which is growth-producing and, in most cases,
survivable. It does not always feel like it, but it helps to share it with
others who can understand. Then, when the season of healing arrives,
look around for others who need the assurance of better times. It is a
rhythm as old as time and made endurable by the waters of love, hope,
and faith.
Prayer:
To you, Oh, God, who meets us in our seasons of pain and celebrates with
us in our seasons of joy, we give you thanks for the rivers of your grace by
which we are planted. Amen.