Trees, Hope, And Waiting For Sunday
I sometimes want to be a tree. I want to blow in the breeze, feel the rain on my branches, shelter birds and squirrels and grow roots deep and wide so that I am strong and resilient to whatever might want to take me down. I want to bend and grow without to-do lists and injustices. I want to be alive without suffering and guilt. But I am not a tree.
I am afraid of the news. Each day the information changes about Covid-19. Each day leaders make decisions that feel too slow to some and draconian to others. So much is unknown. So much is known. And so many people are dying and so many people are not taking this seriously. I hate not seeing our newborn granddaughter and her family. Everything happened so fast. First, our son could not give his kidney to our friend Linda and then rapid changes took off. Some family members are self-isolating and some are still working. It is scary being elderly and at risk. I wish I were a tree.
The fear of this virus has allowed us to say things to one another that we wouldn’t have needed to say before. The sequestered time seems too immense to take in and always know what to do with it. The worry of opening packages and washing down groceries before putting them away is so different. I wish I were a tree that bends in the wind and lets the blossoms blow all over the grass.
The talk of returning to work to save our economy seems drastic and fool-hearty. The realization that all of our years of saving for retirement has significantly shrunk in three weeks hits my heart like an arrow. The sorrow of being cloistered from friends and family is making me cry. The Ford Company offering to make respirators is stunning and makes me cry too. I wish were a tree.
“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “She is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust. Surely He will save me from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence. She will cover me with her wings and I will find refuge.”
“His faithfulness is my shield and rampart. I will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. She will command her angels and guard me and my family.” Because He loves me, says the Lord, I will rescue her. I will protect her for she acknowledges my name.” (Becky’s paraphrase of Psalm 91) I am glad that I am not a tree.
I will lament with those who are in pain. I will use my voice to comfort and assure that there is hope. I will remain in the sorrow of Saturday because this is part of living and not being a tree. I will trust in my heavenly Father and hope in the ascension of Jesus, my savior, and I will feel the presence of the spirit and cling to the hope of heaven. I will fail. I will try. I am not a tree. And I long for Sunday.