"They tried to bury us. They didn't know we were seeds."
During this season of Lent, I'm interested in everything that gets buried and reborn.
Right now our sidewalks in Texas are ankle-deep in acorns, these everyday miracles of resurrection, these tiny fragile seeds of oak trees.
It seems to me that a lot of us like end product of growth. We like the poetic results of maturity.
"For he will be like a tree planted by the water, that extends its roots by a stream and will not fear when the heat comes; but its leaves will be green, and it will not be anxious in a year of drought nor cease to yield fruit." Jeremiah 17:8
"To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the LORD has planted for his own glory." Isaiah 61;3
Not too many of us, though, love the process--the falling, the burying, the darkness, the breaking open--all the things that have to happen, to make way for new growth.
All that stuff is hard.
And we'd just rather get to the end.
(Speaking just for myself, anyway.)
This last year, one of my mantras for myself has been:
Accept, accept, accept.
Accept the reality of the present.
Accept my emotions in light of reality.
Accept the change that comes.
Accept the brokenness, accept the pain.
Accept the process.
Let the acorn fall, let the rain fall too.
Let life be kindled, at its proper time.
Let growth take place, as growth is designed to do.
Let healing come, as healing does.
Accept: trust and rest and let it be.
"All is well, and all shall be well,
and all manner of things shall be well."
Julian of Norwich
"You can't rush your healing
Darkness has its teachings
Love is never leaving
You can't rush your healing."