Barren trees, roots, and rain

As I sit on the floor of my bedroom after a long week- journal, pens, and guitar out- and the sound of rain on the other side of my window’s glass, I can only think of one phrase that commonly comes from my lips.

“Your joy is not determined by your circumstance.”

I have always said it, but in this season, the test has come to see if I will truly believe it… and not only believe it, but if I will live it out.

“Faith lives out what it believes.” -Wes Springer

In my most recent post, I discussed roots (I find that God often speaks to me in analogies- trees. roots. rain). Here is the last part of my entry:

Roots grow in the dark and in the deep,

Beneath the surface,

Untouched and yet fully seeping with its promises within,

And the rainwater that falls and reaches them.

Over the course of this season (literal and spiritual), the analogy has been unfolding. The barren trees hold the promise of the coming spring. Even if we cannot see the promise, we have faith that it will arrive. Spring brings the promise; we wait for it with hope until due time. Other people’s promises may arrive before ours, just as some trees bloom sooner than others- that is okay- see the beauty around. The deeper the roots, the stronger the tree. Roots in fertile soil produce good crops. We cannot bring the rain on our own. We need rain, even if we get a little wet. We know the rain brings nourishment.

The lessons go on.

So how does this all relate to the “season” I am currently in?

Well, I am in a season of transition, only a month away from graduating college. People are getting job offers left and right, and I am still trying to figure out what I want to eat for dinner tonight (anyone else feel that way?). There are dreams I still desire to see come true. There are promises from the Father that I am waiting to arrive. Sometimes, truthfully, I feel like where I am now and where I desire to be are two worlds apart.

Yet, I know my Father in heaven is faithful. Yes, faithful indeed.

That is where the story of the barren trees, the roots, and the rain come in.

I once heard a story of a man who gave his entire life to Jesus after staring at some barren trees for a bit. It seems kind of strange, doesn’t it? What he saw in those barren trees was not an empty void at all- he saw promise. He saw hope. He knew that within the very DNA of those trees held the power to produce what spring would eventually reap. So, he believed.

When we receive Jesus, we receive the DNA of Him who raised Christ from the dead. Resurrection power flows through our veins. In the places you have yet to see the resurrection power of God in your life- hold on to hope. The spring is coming.

When I say that joy is not determined by our circumstances, what I am saying is that we need to put our hope in something other than an outcome. When our hope is in an outcome, we will find ourselves burnt out by trying to achieve it. Our hope should rest in no other than the very person of Jesus Christ. He is the only one who can bring the rain we so desperately need to replenish our souls; and therefore- bear fruit- to bring forth the blossoms of spring. It is nothing we can do of our own, just as we cannot force the rain to come down from the heavens. It is only him. Our hope is him. 

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven

    and do not return there but water the earth,

making it bring forth and sprout,

    giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,

 so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;

    it shall not return to me empty,

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,

    and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.”

Isaiah 55:10-11

Barren trees. Roots. Rain.

In whatever season you are in. Remember who it is that nourishes you. Cling to him.

I will leave you with one last thought, something I wrote in my journal a few weeks ago:

Rejoice, oh barren one, your promise still holds firm within. You have been given, yes, what a gift, an imperishable seed- full of life indeed. Rejoice, oh barren one, your time has come yet, t’wis the barren tree lay full; victorious stalk. Do you not remember, oh child, how you were never called to be the vine? Yet branches, so we are, and will become, as we trust the very source. Lean back, sway with the mercy wind, and sing at the promise to come. Day may breaketh without yet one leaflet to your name. Yet behold, and still, the promise lay true within.

Will I live it out? Will I hold on to hope? Will I have joy in the barren, in the rain?