Stronghold

In the months of late fall and early winter, there is a tree that I admire. I see it on hikes, on scenic routes, and sometimes from busy streets. It’s the American Beech tree.

After the rain has pulled the leaves from other trees, there remains a shimmer. It’s not the tallest tree and it doesn’t have the biggest branches, but its copper leaves bring relief to the nakedness, and cover to the exposed, and hope to the loss.

In some similar way, there is a stronghold in my life. After the season changes and the rains wash away the dead and temporary, there remains a grace that covers me and sings,

Not all is lost, little girl. The forest isn’t dead, just resting. Hold on tight, wait and see. Not all is lost, little girl.

I see a barren forest, God sees a waiting canvas. I see empty, he sees remnants. O to see how he sees, a hope that never ends — a grace that remains. You, God, are the stronghold of my life.

I summed this up in a verse…read Shimmering Leaves (click).